


Love, Apparent

by lifelesslyndsey



Category: CW Network RPF, Son In Law Universe, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Complete, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Teen Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:33:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 70,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelesslyndsey/pseuds/lifelesslyndsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based loosely on the movie Son In Law, Jared is a shy college freshman busted out of his shell by eccentric long-time student Misha Collins. During a series of mishaps, disaster, secrets and confusion that include gayy chicken, compulsive stealing and loose morals, together they grow and fumble their way into love with the help of Jensen, Mike, Tom and more. Written for the 2011 Sassy Minivans</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Characters depicted in the story following are not mine to manipulate. The following situations are false. I make no money from this.
> 
> Warning for Teen Pregnancy, previous mention Jared and Alexis, and breif mention of Jared and Some One Who Is Not Misha. Also, sexual situations, underage drinking, some drug use, slash, swearing and stealing.
> 
> This was written for the Sassy MiniBang Challenge and beta'd by Malbryn. All art was done by the ever-talented buff_iroh.

 

 

 

College.

Cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college education, Mark Twain had been quoted.

Jared loves Mark Twain, really he does - as an undeclared English major, it's probably required that he love Mark Twain - but he has no idea what that's supposed to mean. But hey, that's probably why he's in college in the first place; to learn all the stuff they hadn't had time to shove in his head during high-school. That and be socially awkward on a higher level, he's sure.

It's his first day. He compares it to his first day of kindergarten and wonders if that's weird because a.) he is not five years old, and b.) college is supposed to be about your first step into adulthood....or something like that. All the same, the mixed feelings of dread and excitement are easily similar; he's torn between curiosity and wanting to cry, inwardly at least. He's nervous and out of his comfort zone. The only noticeable difference between kindergarten and college is that the room doesn't smell like paste and his mom hadn't ruffled his head and told him to be a good boy on her way out. And in all honesty, the second one Jared is only pretending she didn't do because she totally did.

He knows he wants this, but just like when he was five years old, he just doesn't feel ready. He doesn't feel ready to wash his own clothes or acquire his own dinner or be in charge of his own general care and maintenance. His parents had driven him down, carried his boxes, and got teary-eyed while slipping 'emergency' money into various pockets of his new jeans. Then they'd left, with a hug and a kiss and a demand that he call them at least once a week.

Then it was just Jared. And Richard Speight apparently, his current non-present dorm-mate. As far as he knows, the only thing that Jared has in common with this Richard kid was their mutual love of junk-food, according to the ridiculously intricate dorm-mate compatibility profile he'd been forced to fill out upon registration. Richard hadn't responded to any of his three courtesy emails, so Jared really has nothing to go on. He'd wanted to wait for the guy before setting up shop so to speak, but he is just too antsy to sit and stare at his boxes.

Guiltily, he steals the good bed and starts unpacking his things. He's mostly done when a disheveled head of hair materializes abruptly in his doorway, swiftly followed by an equally disheveled man. It startles an extremely unmanly squeak out of him which he fails at covering with a rough cough. The guy shuts the door behind him with a wide-eyed frantic look, and swallows hard, stubble-covered throat rolling. He lifts his fingers to his lips in the universal signal for 'shut the hell up', and Jared can't think of any reason not to obey. He opts for staring awkwardly as he clutches his unfolded boxer-briefs against his chest.

“You can't hide forever Collins!” A voice growls from the hallway, and Jared watches the guy chuckle silently to himself, the frantic look melting to one that can only be described as smug. It kind of gives Jared whip-lash. “Goddammit Misha! Get out here!”

The voice fades further away, till it can't be heard at all, and only then does Jared speak. “You're not Richard, are you?” He's going to go out on a limb and assume this guy is the Misha Collins currently being sought after by the angry-sounding hallway-searcher.

The guy actually looks behind him, at the door, before turning back to Jared, as if only just now noticing that they were alone in the room. “Misha Collins, Resident Advisor.”

“You're the RA?” Jared asks, not even bothering to hide the obvious incredulity in his voice. The guy...is not what he'd expect from someone whose job is to manage the living quarters of two hundred barely-legal freshly-minted co-eds.

The guy, Misha, just grins at him, bright white and a little gummy. “One of them,” he explains and that serves to make Jared feel a little bit better, at least. Until the guy starts speaking again. “You're Jared Tristan Padalecki, of 1485 Cambridge Court, Caldwell, Texas. Second son of Gerald and Sharon Padalecki, born July 19th, 1982. High-school GPA of 3.7, graduated with honors, debate team captain, played varsity soccer, and organized charity UNICEF drives bi-annually. You're an undeclared English major, six-foot-four, one-hundred and sixty pounds, allergic to selfish---”

“Yeah,” Jared says slowly, setting the pair of boxer-briefs he'd been clutching down on the bed and nervously reaching for his cell-phone. “I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

Misha makes a face, nose scrunched up, and shuffles on his feet. “Too much?”

“You're kind of creeping me out,” Jared explains, glad to have the small space between them in the cloistered dorm room. At some point, however, Misha had apparently taken several steps, so that the only thing separating them was the very tiny dorm bed.

Misha the RA bites into his lip and nods like perhaps this was a common observation. “I read your file,” he admits. “I read everyone's file.”

Blinking, Jared's eyes narrow. “And memorized them?”

“Oh I remember everything I read,” Misha replies brightly. “So it's not creepy.”

“It's still a little creepy,” Jared argues, because...yeah. He's not exactly a social butterfly, (more like a social slug if you're going to go with an insect-type simile) but he's pretty sure common etiquette does not require low-level, broad range stalking. “I'll let it slide if you never repeat that I was debate team captain.” Because seriously? He wants to leave that little fact behind him, to die quietly in high-school where it belongs.

“Why?” Misha asks, earnest blue eyes widening. “I find the ability to argue attractive in a man.”

“Yeah, not everyone sees it that way,” Jared replies. His brother Jeff hadn't; Jeff had mocked him mercilessly when he'd been elected, very much against his will, thank you very much. He decides to overlook the 'in-a-man' part of the comment because while he is not a homophobe, he's really got enough on his plate to comment on it. He isn't particularly offended by any one's sexuality, except for maybe his own but that's mostly because it's pretty much non-existent except for that one time (his first time) with Alexis, and really he kind of wants to forget---- Anyway. “It's kind of nerdy.”

Misha the RA just shrugs, blue flannel shirt sliding down his left shoulder. “I hear nerd is in right now.” Just as he speaks, Jared's door swings open hard, smacking the wall behind it. This time however, it reveals a bald man with a rather maniacal looking grin. Jared clutches his phone again and wonders if it's too late to consider community college.

“Misha,” the bald man sings, towering in the door way. He's seen horror films that have started like this; all the man is missing is an axe and some blood splatter. Jared is pretty sure he's taller than him, by quite a few inches. Misha however, is not; the odds are not in his favor. “You drugged me and shaved my head while I was sleeping,” the bald guy announces, his eyes wide and challenging.

Yeah, Jared is never inviting strangers into his room again. Especially the drugging-and-head-shaving-kind. The next four years will probably go a lot better if he just doesn't talk to anyone every again. Like he said, he's not a social butterfly, and it's never been important to him. College isn't for making friends, right? Right.

Suddenly Misha does a barrel roll over the bed, and hides himself behind Jared. He hadn't seen it coming, and now he just kind of wants to run. Except that Misha is holding onto the pockets of his jeans, and with a surprisingly firm grip too. “Is that why you're mad?” Misha asks, peeking out from behind Jared. “I'm going to go out on a limb and assume you haven't had to piss yet, huh?”

Big Bald guy's eyes go really wide and he lifts his shirt to tug at the front of his loose fitting jeans, peering into them. Jared is growing more and more uncomfortable with the situation in every passing minute.

His lack of comfort bottoms out when the Bald Guy looks up again and announces in a voice that isn't as angry as Jared feels it should be qualified, “You shaved my balls!”

Still hiding behind his hulking frame, Misha cackles, laughing so hard it actually shakes Jared. “You liked it,” he replies blithely, grinning like a shark. “Ask me where I put the pubes, Michael.”

“Misha----”

“Ask me,” Misha repeats, his hands now gripping the back of Jared's shirt so tightly the collar chokes him slightly. Jared tries not to pull to hard against Misha's grip, because if he knows nothing, he knows that he does not want to pass out alone with these people. “Ask me, ask me, ask me.”

“I'm going to kill you,” Big Bald Guy – Michael – says, through clenched white teeth. He closes his eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. It doesn't look like it worked. Actually, Jared is momentarily distracted and concerned for the guy's blood pressure. He kind of looks like he's about to bust a capillary in his eye or something. It isn't pretty.

Misha cackles again, unconcerned and dancing around behind Jared, jerking him with every wiggle. “But then you'll never know!”

He considers himself lucky that he saw Michael lunge coming (unlike Misha's). He ducks out of the way (and into the closet which will be hilarious and ironic much later in life) allowing the strange RA to be caught. Misha scowls at him from over the Micheal’s shoulder. “You sold me out,” he accuses, making absolutely no effort to free himself.

“Sorry,” Jared flushes. He doesn't exactly feel guilty, but Misha's glare is making him squirm.

Suddenly, the glare is gone, and Misha the RA is grinning. “Don't be. I admire a strong will to survive.” He reaches down and hikes the Micheal’s boxer shorts so far up his crack that Jared's balls twitch in sympathy, but the bald man in question merely grunts, and carries the now waving Misha out the door. “Bye Jared!”

Three and a half minutes later, Michael is back, Misha still on his shoulder. “Give them back,” he says with a sigh and Misha scowls again, this time chucking a pair of Jared's boxer shorts back on the bed. “Apologize Misha.”

“Sorry for stealing your underwear,” Misha says with his own a put-upon sigh. “I swear I'm not a creeper.”

“You're not really building a very good case,” Jared replies, cautiously taking the boxers from the bed and tucking them into the drawer. The man might have only had them for three minutes, but Jared is pretty sure he can never wear them again. They aren't to be trusted.

Michael turns sharply, letting Misha's head knock into the door. “You're going to want to not let Misha in your room again,” he instructs Jared solemnly. “He has issues.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Stop scaring the freshman off Michael,” Misha snaps, elbows propped on Mike's back. “You ruin all my fun.”

Mike just laughs, like he hadn't just been ready to strangle the RA. “Oh magpie,” he says turning back around. This time Misha's head hits the door jam. “It's a good thing I love you.”

Jared finds himself flushing a little more heatedly at the parting comment, watching Mike and Misha disappear down the hall. He's not a homophobe, even if he is from Texas, but he doesn't actually know anyone who's of that....preference (he can't bring himself to even think gay because it seems offensive even in his mind and Jared has made it a life effort to keep quite and offend no one),either. He guesses it makes sense that Mike and Misha are dating, since who the hell would shave some one's balls if they weren't? Actually, he doesn't even know anyone who would do that to someone they were dating. Maybe he just doesn't know the right people.

College is weird.

 

“You suck,” Misha huffs, sinking down into his avocado-baby-puke-green plastic chair between Tom and Mike at the freshman registration table. “You totally emasculated me. How will the freshman respect my authority now?” It's a fight to keep the smile off his face. People don't really respect Misha as much as they live in fear and awe of him. He doesn't mind; it's a system that has been working for him for years.

“You openly admitted to shaving my balls,” Mike counters, and Tom spits his coffee across the table, all over the very white shirt of a squeaky blonde freshman who just wanted to get her room key.

“Jesus Christ,” Tom groans, looking up at the squeaky blond girl with an apologetic. “Sorry, I'm so sorry. Alison Mack, right? Room 231-B. A little club soda will get that right out,” he adds, frowning at his shirt like the gayest straight person Misha has ever seen, as he hands her the key and the information packet. Once she's gone, he turns to Mike, then to Misha, and then back to Mike. “Can you guys just...put the Gay Chicken on pause for one day?”

Misha thinks that Tom should know better, but clearly he doesn't. Instantly, both he and Mike have their hands on Tom's thighs, slowly moving up the inseam of his jeans. Another freshman makes their nervous way to the table and Tom is forced to slap a happy smile on his face and pretend he isn't being fondled in tandem.

Tom is good, but he's not the best. Jensen is the best when it comes to Gay-Chicken, he thinks fondly. Misha thinks that Jensen should fuck Med-school and go into acting because he is the reigning Gay-Chicken king. Nothing phases him. Misha once shoved Jensen's hands down his pants and made him cup Misha's balls. Not a fucking twitch out of him. Jensen is Misha's proudest accomplishment.

“Sandy McCoy” the girl says firmly, dark pony tail swinging behind her. Misha is momentarily distracted by her ginormous sweater puppies, hand clenching unconsciously on Tom's dick.

“Room 224-B” Tom squeaks, handing her the key and packet. He slaps Misha's arm hard, and elbows him in the ribs before clearing his throat and running his fingers through his hair as if to shake off the impromptu molestation. “So what did Misha do now?” He asks, broadly, checking both the girls names of the list (which is actually Misha's job, but Tom doesn't trust him with that kind of authority, apparently.)

“Why do I get blamed?” Misha asks, frowning. He'd be more upset if he hadn't just shaved Mike's balls, but whatever; Mike started it. “Mike started it.”

“He's right, I did,” Mike admits shamelessly and that's why Misha likes Mike. “I want my cock-lock back, by the way.”

The current freshman managed to avoid the majority of Tom's second spit-take as he rushes away from the registration table of insanity. He's probably wondering exactly what he signed up for, Misha thinks. “Then you're going to have to tell me how to take it off,” Misha answers Mike, belatedly.

Mike snorts, grinning. “You're still wearing it.” He's pleased, as if Misha's pain is like a balm to him. It probably is, but the feeling is entirely mutual. If either Misha or Mike were adverse to a little pain, they wouldn't have managed to survive their friendship for all the years they had.

“I'm not convinced it isn't a Chinese finger trap you stuck on my dick,” Misha says seriously. He'd tried to get it off, really he did, but he just kept making himself hard. Which isn't particularly fun when you're wearing a cock-ring-slash-finger trap. “Seriously, why do you even have a chastity-”

Tom bangs his head on the table and sighs. “You guys know it's not Gay Chicken if you're actually gay right? Then it's foreplay.”

“We're not gay,” both he and Mike say at once. They've had this conversation before.

“I'm bi-sexual,” Mike explains for the umpteenth time. Misha can confirm this; Mike has no real leanings one way or the other. Both dicks and chicks do it for him. Tom, however, is sadly as linear as they come. It's a waste of so much pretty, Misha thinks. That much pretty should be equal opportunity, at least. If Misha were into Tom, he's pretty sure he'd feel spectacularly cheated by the world. “And Misha's----”

“Omnisexual,” Tom says with a sigh. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

“I believe the term is pansexual now, thank you,” Misha corrects, haughtily. “Seriously though Mike, how do I take it off? It's been on for twelve hours. I've had two dry orgasms already and it's starting to chafe. My balls are killing me.” He's pretty sure if he hadn't managed those two orgasms, he would be in the hospital. Mike is an evil genius.

“You can come with a cock ring on?” Tom asks with no little awe, and Misha preens. He's got skills, thank you very much. Actually, he's pretty sure there's nothing in the world that could actually stop him from having orgasms. Awe swiftly gone, Tom turns to Mike with even more than his usual amount of disgusted incredulity. “You put a cock ring on him?”

Mike though, Mike looks a little put out. “It was too big for his cock anyway. It was totally loose,” he grumbles, but concedes anyway. “You win this round, magpie.”

“Your dick is going to fall off,” Tom mutters darkly, and then punches Mike in the shoulder. “Go help him get it off before we have to take him to the hospital,” he barks, and then shakes his head tiredly. “I'm calling Jensen. I need someone straight to balance out all the gay.”

“I'm offended at your narrow-mindedness Tom, really I am,” Misha says solemnly, shaking his head in mock sadness. “I'd thought such a hip and liberal young man such as yourse----”

Tom punches Misha in the arm too and laughs. “If I were narrow-minded, you really think we'd have been friends this long?”

“You do love me!” Misha squeals as high as he can and lunges at Tom, landing a sloppy kiss on his cheek before Mike grabs him by the collar.

“Come on lover boy,” he chuckles, marching Misha towards the bathrooms. “You know I'm confiscating your Adderol, right?” Misha had wondered if Mike had noticed his too-big pupils and nervous twitch. Of course he had. That's why Misha liked Mike so much. The man misses nothing.

“You're a good friend, Mike.”  
*  
Mike is a good friend. Because no one but a good friend, a great friend to be honest, would be standing outside the bathroom stall, walking him through a cock ring unlocking process. “Here's the key,” he says, handing Misha a key that is not dissimilar to that of a diary or kiddy-cuffs. Easily pickable, Misha figures, if you knew that there was an actual lock in the first place, which he did not. Every time he tried to feel for the cock ring, his hand just ended up hopelessly on his dick. “There's a tiny lock on the underside, you should be able to twist it open.”

He finds the lock, but the twisting part is a little more complicated at this angle. “I can't,” Misha finds his own efforts wanting, but really, can anyone blame him? He's been hard for a really, really, really long time, and he needs to pee and come but probably not in that order.“Shit Mike, my balls are killing me. I don't want them to fall off, I'm attached to them. I've named them Sam and Dean and I've invested a lot of time in their care and upkeep. Help?”

Mike sighs and yanks open the stall door. “I really hate you. Just...hold your dick up. I'll get it,” he says, and yeah, Misha realizes that their friendship is really gay and unconventional and probably sit-com worthy. “I think we need to like...discuss boundaries after this. You ever think our Gay Chicken is getting out of hand?”

“Gay Chicken has no boundaries,” Misha reminds him, while trying not to squirm. “It's an extreme sport.” Mike's hands are cold, making his balls clench up even more uncomfortably. Misha's pretty sure if the migrate any higher, he'll be choking on his pubes. “You're the one who put it on me.”

“You jizzed in my coffee,” Mike replies tightly. It's true, he did. And then he reminded Mike if he didn't drink it, he'd be forfeiting. “I couldn't just let that go.” He's barely twisted the lock once, but Misha can already feel the relief. He's hard beneath his hand and it's no surprise that he comes the very moment the fucking One Ring To Rule Them is loosened, splashes of white streaking up his stomach.

“Goddamn it, Misha!” Mike snaps, wiping his hand on Misha's jeans. It's a little weird and a lot gay, because no matter how close Mike and Misha are, they've never been that kind of close. It could have ended up that way, Misha supposes, but circumstances made them friends, the best of friends to be sure, but just friends. “Warn a guy! You totally jizzed on my hand.” He's not grossed out by it really. If a little man-glaze grossed him out, he would have lost Gay Chicken forever ago. He's mostly just annoyed. It's the principle of the thing, Misha figures.

Misha can't say anything but “thank you,” and even that comes out as a groan. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. God that was awful. I'm not sure I win this round.”

“You did keep it on for twelve hours,” Mike reasons, unlocking it further. He lets it go, and it slides down Misha's dick without help, catching on the sensitive head. “I've got to give you props for that.”

“I figured it wouldn't count if I didn't leave it on as long as it took me to exact revenge,” Misha replies with a shrug. He releases his cock, letting it fall wet and half limp against his open jeans. Mike flinches away with a glare as he pushes up of his knees.

There's a squeaking noise followed by a plastic-sounding thud, and both Mike and Misha's heads snap towards the sound.

And Jared Tristan Padalecki is standing at the door, mouth open and eyes wide. “Shit. Shit, sorry,” he squeaks, tearing his eyes away and bolting with a mumbled apology. Jared's cell phone is laying on the floor abandoned, and Mike is glaring at him, and Misha can't think because he just blew his brains out of his dick.

“Misha,” Mike says a moment later, washing his hands at the sink. “I'm uncomfortable with our friendship.”

“No you're not,” Misha replies, rolling his eyes. He picks up the cell phone, and pockets it. “You should be though.”

Mikes face is scowling at him through the mirror. “Misha,” he says sternly. “Go give it back.”

“I wasn't going to keep it,” Misha denies, but does as he's told because there are a few things that make Mike mad, but Misha's....thing, is one of them.

“Give me back my cock ring too, Gollum,” he says with a laugh, as Misha reaches for the door.

Misha flushes a little, but grins as he fishes the ring out of his pocket and tosses it to Mike.

“You're suck a fucking magpie; hoarder of the shiny,” Mike makes grabby hands at him, and Misha knows he's not too mad; magpie is an insult and an endearment for Mike. He's been more mad, at any rate. Mike is a good friend.

 

See, the thing about Misha, well to be fair there are a lot of things about Misha, but this thing, it's...complicated. Or maybe it isn't, but Misha wishes it was. Misha likes to steal things. No, no. That’s not right. He doesn't exactly enjoy it. He doesn't get a rush from stealing, doesn't enjoy the adrenaline. There really isn't any adrenaline involved. He just...sometimes takes things that aren't his. He doesn't know why and several of the therapists that his mother made him visit labeled it as obsessive compulsive kleptomania.

It's as close to right as he's ever found. Sometimes he just sees things and he has to take them. Most of the time he doesn't even want them; it's not really a matter of want. It's just...a weird urge he's never been able to break from, and it's worse if he's stressed or anxious (which explains his mild addiction to Ativan, but whatever). It makes making friends hard, and keeping them harder. He's lucky to have found Mike, who introduced him to Tom, and by proxy Jensen. They're good guys, who mostly understand Misha and try their best to keep him out of trouble. That's what makes him flush, makes him feel embarrassed; that even at his age, he needs some one to keep him out of trouble at all.

 

:

One day, one day he's been in college and he's already had his first gay sexual experience. Granted, it wasn't exactly his experience, but he still feels it counts for something. Seriously though, who hooks up in a bathroom? A dormitory bathroom, none the less. It makes Jared's skin crawl, just thinking about it. Just...gross. The bathroom part, not the gay part.

He stalks back to his dorm room, only to find it suddenly inhabited by a weaselly-looking blond who is currently and unabashedly rifling through Jared's things.

“Excuse me!” Jared snaps, yanking his boxer-briefs (what is it with people manhandling his shorts today!?) from the guy’s hands. “Richard, I presume?”

“Chad,” the guy says slowly, like he wasn't just digging through Jared's underwear drawer. “Chad Murray. And chill dude, I was just gonna scope out your porn, get feel for your type. It's good to know if we're gonna be competing for babes or not.”

Just looking at the guy, Jared is mostly sure that he wants nothing to do with any girl interested in Chad, ever.

“I don't have porn,” Jared blinks at him. He peers at the door and wonders if this Chad person is friends with the creepy R.A. So far, they have both successfully freaked him out upon introduction, and manhandle his undershorts. “Seriously, what are you doing in here? My roommate is supposed to be a guy named Richard Speight. See, it's on my papers.” He snatches the room-assignment papers from where he'd left them on the dresser and flourishes them in front of the weaselly-drawer-riffler.

“Wait, wait,” Chad says, clearly intent on ignoring Jared's important questions and paperwork. “What do you mean you don't have porn? Why don't you have porn?”

“I...don't need it?”

The guy Chad just squints at him, then scoffs. “Uh, yeah, you do. Seriously, everyone needs porn---”

“You know what?” Jared cuts him off right there because really, he doesn't want to get into how the objectification of women makes him really uncomfortable. “We should really go talk to the R.A.'s and get this straightened out.” He'd almost prefer that over discussing porn with this guy; he's not sure he can to look either of the R.A.'s in the face any time soon. Except, whenever he sees porn, all he can think of is how he'd feel if his little sister ended up in Penthouse, being ogled by guys across the globe. And the girls in the magazine, they have to be someone’s sister or daughter, so he starts wondering what their parents must think and yeah. It's enough to prevent a boner for at least a day.

“Oh right,” Chad agrees, following Jared out the door.

He chatters incessantly; Jared can't get a word in edge wise as they make their way to the dorm lobby where the registration table is set up. “Seriously though, porn or no porn, you have to have a type,” Chad finishes his spiel with a dramatic hand wave. “I like tall, leggy blondes, myself,” he explains without prompting. Jared can only assume he's expected to reply in kind.

Jared thinks of Alexis, his ex-girlfriend back home, and answers without any thought. “Short, blue-eyed brunettes. I guess I have a thing for baby-faces.” It's true enough - it's what made him fall for Alexis in the first place. He'd like to say it was her winning personality but...well. She was pretty, in an insipid pageant-girl type way. Not that pageant girls are insipid, but Alexis kind of was.

“You totally just mostly described my ex,” Chad says flatly. “You can have dibs on any baby-faced brunettes, 'cause after Sophia, I've had enough of 'em.”

“Aw, Misha, no love,” a familiar voice says, and Jared feels himself cringing. Yeah, he had been hoping that Mike and Misha were both...busy, or whatever. No such luck. Today is not Jared's day. “You either Tommy, you're the Baby Face in this rat pack.”

“Shut up, Powder,” Misha snaps back, but he's smiling. “At least my carpets match my drapes.”

“Thanks to you, I have neither carpets nor drapes,” Michael replies dryly. “Hardwood and open windows, my friend.”

The third guy, the one sitting between them (he's not surprised they need to be separated in public) speaks, sighing deeply. “Guys, seriously. I have no more coffee to spit and there are freshman to register. Just...shut up.”

“Jared's already registered,” Misha supplies helpfully, looking up at him brightly, like Jared hadn't just seen the man's o-face. Mike though, Mike is smirking. Jared decides to not look at either of them. He thinks as far as couples go, they're a strange mix of frightening and cute. Even if he's pretty sure talking to Alexis the way they did would get him in serious trouble. If not from her, then surely from his momma.

The third guy, whose blue name-tag helpfully reads 'Tom', clears his throat, and Jared gets with the program. “Uh, hey. I think there's been a mix up. My room assignment says my room-mate is some guy named Richard, but Chad here, his room assignment says his room-mate is me. So uh....”

Tom takes his slightly-crinkled paper, and Jared makes it a point to look at neither Mike nor Misha who he is mostly sure are looking at him. “Oh,” Tom says, nodding to himself. “Looks like Speight withdrew from college, so they reassigned your room to Chad.”

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Chad says with an alarming grin as he reaches up awkwardly to throw his arm over Jared's shoulder. Ducking out of reach, he gives Chad a nervous smile and a nod. Jared is a little bit afraid of him. Or at least, catching something from him.

“Right,” Jared says, taking his papers back and slipping of Chad's arm. “Well, thank you.”

He's only just made it to the first stairwell when he hears a voice being called out. He tells Chad to go ahead, and turns around to catch Misha skipping his way up the stairs. Actually skipping - arms swinging, the full shebang. “Hey,” he says, stopping four steps down. “I uh...you dropped your phone in the bathroom.”

Jared flushes; he can feel the heat of it on his neck. “I wasn't spying,” he says in a rush. “Er. I mean, I wasn't like...spying on you and your boyfriend.”

“Of course you weren't,” Misha replies, in brisk agreement. “We were in the bathroom, anyone could have walked in. Also, Michael is not my boyfriend,” He gets a weird little grin on his weird little face. “But I can't wait to tell him you thought so.”

Other freshman are milling past, every one as wide-eyed and weary looking as Jared feels. “Oh. Uh...but you two were...” He's not really sure what they were doing, to be honest.

“Oh, he was helping me take his cock ring off,” Misha replies and then winces. “Yeah, there's no way that doesn't sound weird. It's...have you ever heard of Gay Chicken?”

They're walking now, gently pushed along by the flowing crowed. “Uh...isn't that just kissing?” It's not a game any of his friends would have ever played, but he's heard of it. Mostly he was under the impression it was just a way that gay guys got straight guys to kiss them. He flushes and realizes how horrible that sounds.

“We play an... extreme version. It's more like... a Gay Chicken Prank War. Whoever lays down the best prank wins the round. First one to forfeit loses, but that's never happened. This game is years old,” Misha says unabashedly. “Winner carries on. This round was kind of a draw, so either of us can raise the bar. ” He gets a far-away look that Jared is pretty sure means he's plotting. It's kind of scary.

Jared wonders if he looks half as horrified as he feels. “That's... and all your friends play that?”

“No just Mike and I,” Misha replies and Jared's not sure what to make of that.

“Are you sure you're not just gay for each other?” Jared blurts out in question, and then chokes on his own audacity. “Sorry, that was---”

“Oh, good God no,” Misha startles him by laughing. “Mike and I are just friends. We probably have some serious boundary issues, but...yeah. Friends. Anyway, I just wanted to give you back your phone and uh, apologize for the thing with Mike this morning, and uh, then the thing in the---”

“Rough start?” Jared asks, feeling a little guilty for passing the guy off as a nut job so quickly. It's the guy's first day of the year too, maybe his first day as being an RA. Jared doesn't know what kind of pressure that entails, but considering he's not sure he can handle taking care of just himself, he doesn't envy the guy who has to look after a whole floor of freshman. “It happens. No harm, no foul.”

The guy melts a little, like Jared's acceptance to his apology actually mattered to him. They're in his hall now, squeezing through the milling students. “Awesome,” he breaths, and then bites his lip. “Uh Jared?'

He's already reaching out for his door when Misha calls out to him again. “Yeah?” He asks, turning a bit.

“Your watch,” Misha says, tossing it to him. “Sorry.”

It smacks against Jared's chest and he barely catches it, thick leather band soft against his fingers. “Must have dropped it. Thank you, it's...it was my Grandpa’s. It's kind of important to me.”

Misha's cheeks pink oddly, and he scratches the back of his neck. “Sure.”

 

It's past curfew, all of his freshy little freshman are tucked away in their beds as they should be. Misha's on call tonight; all the R.A.'s are, for any freshman suddenly struck with horrific bouts of home-sickness that require midnight pep-talks or coddling. He almost laughs at the notion as he props his door open with a potted ficus. He's fairly sure no freshman will be coming to him for any kind of help, at least not for a while.

Misha is off-putting; he knows this. He stares too long, often says the wrong thing, and steals things. These are not trust-inducing characteristics for which the youth of today come falling over themselves for his aid and wisdom. At least, not until mid-terms, when they're desperate. And that's okay, because Misha mostly has no idea what he's doing on a day-to-day basis, but he's pretty sure he could teach a slacker chem-one in a night with enough Red-Bull and jelly beans. It's all about incentive and Misha is totally an awesome jelly-bean giving teacher. But then, after mid-terms pass, word will spread that he is not a man to be wary of, but rather to be embraced. He knows this method will work because it's pretty much how he's met all his friends. Unfortunately, it's enough to meet friends but it's not enough to keep them. Misha has made many friends over the years, but only Mike, Tom and Jensen have managed to hang around.

It's not that he doesn't have people-skills. Misha has excellent people-skills when necessary. He can charm the pants off a priest (and not because of his boyish good looks). It's just that...not very many people merit that kind of effort in his opinion. But given the chance, Misha is nothing but friendly. He's a nice guy, and he likes people. He likes to watch them and talk to them and sometimes poke at them. And occasionally steal their personal belongings, but he can't help that.

People like Misha too, it just...takes time. Misha compares himself to something akin to jumping in a pool. There are two ways to do it. You can jump head first, and take all the Misha-weird at once, or you can toe the waters, ease your way with small doses of Misha. Most people just seem to prefer the latter. But Mike and Jensen once told him that when you got to know him, there was no going back; that Misha was a kind of life-changing person. He's pretty sure they meant it as a compliment, but it doesn't always feel that way. When it's dark, and he's bored, and there's nothing to distract him, he sometimes thinks that every one's life would be a lot easier if it were Mishaless.

To avoid said boredom or brooding, he flips open his laptop and pulls up his instant messanger. Jensen isn't online,and Mike is 'busy', but Tom is available so Misha clicks his name. Tom is the one he wants to talk to anyway, because Tom is something Jensen and Mike are not. Tom is sympathetic. Misha can talk to Tom about uncomfortable shit without being mocked. It's not often that he needs to; Misha is not terribly insecure about most things, but...when the insecurities come creeping, Tom has always been there.

Mishamigo: Tell me why you guys thought I should be an RA?

Tom: Your child-like mentality is easily related to? The fact that it requires no roommate or a rent check? Or the ability to remember to write a rent-check?

Mishamigo: You're not helping. I don't think this was a good idea. This was a bad idea.

Tom: Come on Mish, what's up?

Mishamigo: I've liberated a watch, a wallet, and two sets of car keys today.

Tom: Jeez Misha, day one? You should have talked to us if you were stressed.

Mishamigo: You all have your own worries. You shouldn't have to worry about me.

Tom: You're our friend. Of course we're going to worry.

Mishamigo: Maybe I don't want you to. Maybe I can handle this by myself.

Tom: You're our friend, Mish. Maybe you should talk to Mike. He's better at dealing with this.

Mishamigo: I don't want to be dealt with! It doesn't have to turn into a thing. It's not like I mean it.

Tom: I know you don't mean it Mish, but you gotta get a handle on it. The last thing you need right now is to get arrested again. But this RA thing? You don't need to worry about it. The underclassman normally love you. Give it some time. And do me a favor? Let Mike know.

Misha: He'll yell at me. And I wasn't arrested for theft.

Tom: He'll help you. He always does. And you were arrested for sticking your balls on a croissant at Arby's and then smacking it on the counter and asking for a refund. You think that's better?

Misha: Well duh.

 

Misha does tell Mike. As suspected, Mike is not impressed. Equally, Misha is not impressed by Mike's nightly frisk job. Mostly it yields pencils, pens, and once a stapler. Easily lost things. He knows it's not exactly 'getting a handle' on it, but he feels better stealing inconsequential things. Plus, everyone steals pens. It's nice not to be alone.

It's a solid month into term before he ever hears a knock on his door. He's trying to mod an old PlayStation into a waffle iron, pleasantly stoned and somewhat tingly. He's nearly done when a knock startles him from his tinkering. He panics a little, flailing because it's either campus authority or a freshman. Neither prospect is especially promising, to be honest. “Uh...come in.”

To his surprise, it's Jared.

He peels off his safety-goggles, rubbing at the deep red mark they leave on the bridge of his nose. “What can I do for you Jared?” He asks, a direct question straight out of the RA guidebook.

Jared flushes, much to his amusement. “Sanctuary?” He says, after a fashion, shuffling at the door. He's big and lanky, filling the whole space, even as he tries to make himself small. “I'm pretty sure my room-mate is having an orgy.” He adds tightly, mouth pulling into a frown.

God save him from prudish-freshman. “Were you not invited?” He asks, because...well, what else could be the problem?

“What? No!” Jared says, and Misha kind of flinches beneath the kid’s sheer expression of horror. “Well, yes I was. That's why I'm here.”

Misha does not understand because he's ninety-nine percent sure that orgies are always awesome, at least in his personal experience. In fact, he's a little impressed a freshman is pulling one off within the first month. He's seen Chad; he suspects money or blackmail was involved. Chad is kind of a creeper. This is coming from Misha, so....

Jared though? Jared has a very wonder-bread feel about him, all tanned and twangy with his half-hidden Texas drawl. He's a good boy, Misha can see it in the blush on his cheeks and the way he hides behind his ridiculous hair.

He blinks at Jared, stares for a little too long, till Jared squirms and continues. “I don't want to sleep with Chad, or anyone who would sleep with Chad.”

Misha decides that's probably not a bad rule to live by. “Understandable,” he replies, setting down his soldering gun. He kicks the pile of clothes he was using as a pillow off the bed, and points. “Have a seat, mi cama es tu cama.”

Jared flushes an even deeper shade of red, and Misha thinks about what he just said. “You speak Spanish, don't you?” he asks the giant freshman. He can feel the faint tingling niggle of embarrassment rush across his skin like heat, beneath his high. He squashes it brutally; he's just not the type of man to get embarrassed. Embarrassment is a distant cousin to regret. It's a waste of time.

“I'm from Texas, so...a little.” Jared nods, perching himself on Misha's bed, legs outstretched, bumping into the desk. “Enough to know that your bed is not in fact my bed.”

So far, Misha has busted into the kid’s room, stolen his underwear, gotten caught coming on a friend in a public bathroom, and has now made an accidental but still inappropriate pass at him in Spanish. “Were all the other R.A.'s busy?” He asks, almost randomly, because there is just no logical reason for Jared to be here, with him.

Jared's eyes go wide, startled. “What? Uh. I don't know. Aren't you my R.A.?”

“Yeah, but you don't necessarily have to come to me,” Misha explains. “You can go to whoever you're comfortable with.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Jared asks, confused and tense. “I..um. I can go...somewhere else, I mean, I didn't mean to bother you.”

“You're not bothering me,” Misha replies, blankly. “I just...cannot imagine you're comfortable with me, all things considered.”

Jared gives him a blinding smile. “I think we just got off on a....a couple of bad starts. Plus, it's Friday, and you're the only R.A. who never looks busy on Friday.”

“That's not true,” Misha denies. “I live a very active and exciting social life.” He does, but he also has an extremely selective Social Theory field research class on Saturday mornings that he has never missed. Given his record, it wasn't easy for him to get into and the professor isn't exactly fond of him. For some reason though, his friends are under the impression he spends his morning doing court-ordered community service. He's never corrected them. “Just not on Friday.”

“So I can stay?”

“Of course,” Misha replies, sliding his safety goggles on while Jared digs through his bag for a book. “Hey, do you like waffles?”

As it turns out, Jared does.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blanket Warning For Sexual Situations, Drug Use, Teen Pregnancy, Abuse of Medication, Underage Drinking, Sexual Situations, Scenes Of A Decidedly Homosexual Nature, Loose Morals and Stealing.

**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/) **

  
Jared has never met anyone quite like Misha Collins. Formal and informal introductions aside, Misha is still crazy. And yet? Jared could not be more grateful that Chad is a disgusting pig, because if he wasn't, Jared might never have gotten the chance to get to know Misha. And Jared is pretty sure that would have sucked because Misha is pretty much the most amazing guy ever.

Sure he's crazy, but he's also funny and a little bit wild; he's everything that Jared is not and maybe kind of wants to be. He knows everything, or at least it feels that way to Jared. Misha is only twenty-four, old for a senior, but Jared is mostly sure that Misha is some kind of freaky genius. He doesn't ask, because that seems rude, but Misha just has that mad-scientist kind of feel to him. But he never makes Jared feel stupid for which he is eternally grateful.

“We need to crack your shell Jared,” Misha says, reaching up to rap his knuckles against Jared's forehead. It's a Thursday afternoon and Jared had just been wrapping up his shift at the library when Misha dropped in. Misha had actually gotten him the job, and Jared likes it. The pay is crap, but it's quiet and it's a library so Jared is pretty much in Educational Heaven, as Misha refers to it. “And we also need to jog. Your shoes are in my car.”

Grabbing his coat from the closet that passes for an employee break room, he gives Misha what is probably a placating smile. “Oh really?”

“Yes, and don't give me that look,” Misha replies. “I know what I'm talking about. I've broken the shells of many a shy freshman. Just look at Jensen!”

Jared has heard the stories. From what Misha has told him, Jensen has come a long way. The kid could barely manage to string s sentence together above a whisper without blushing prior to Misha. But now? Well, Jensen can fart for four minutes straight in public with no shame whatsoever (Jared has witnessed this) and Misha takes very obvious pride that it was totally his doing.

The car is quiet, save for the sound of Depeche Mode pouring out of shitty speakers. Misha never talks much while driving, much to Jared's amusement; any other time it's almost impossible to silence the man. Jared doesn't really mind though; Misha is full of ideas and schemes and Jared wants to hear every one. It's a short drive from campus to the boardwalk, but it gives him enough time to brood.

“I don't have a shell,” Jared denies, after too long a stretch between answer and question. Misha still gets it though, he always does. Anyway, Jared doesn't feel like he has a shell. Is it so wrong to be reserved? He doesn't understand the problem with being quiet, with being inward. He slips his running shoes on in Misha's hideous blue Ford Fiesta, legs crammed halfway to his chest as Misha parks and pays the meter with more coins then it will possibly need.

Misha sighs and rolls his bright blue eyes. “Sure you do. It's that thin white thing hiding your potential,” he explains calmly, before his eyes take on a frightening glint. Jared has learned to be wary of this particular expression. “And I am going to brutally smash it to itty-bitty pieces, so that the baby chicken...er,” he looks over at Jared's large, squished frame. “The baby ostrich, the real Jared, may finally be born into his potential.”

He glowers down at Misha for a moment, huffing as they make their way across the parking lot. “I don't appreciate your analogy,” he says firmly. “I am not a freaking ostrich.”

“Fucking ostrich,” Misha says slowly, and Jared can't help but roll his eyes. This is not new, this thing where Misha tries to get Jared to swear. “Come on Jared, say it with me. 'I am not a fucking ostrich'.”

Jared is not offended by other people’s filthy mouths, he's not. He just doesn't feel the need to drop f-bombs into every other sentence. His mother is an English teacher and frankly, she taught him better than that. “I don't feel the need to validate myself by swearing.”

“It's not about validating yourself,” Misha huffs right back at him, throwing up his arms. His hand hits the steering wheel, letting loose a honk that sends the sea­gulls that had been perched on the hood aflutter. “It's about expression. You're irritated with my ostrich simile, so let me feel it.”

It's another discussion they've had time and time again. Misha doesn't think that he makes himself known as he should. Jared disagrees; he has opinions, and he shares them. He was on the debate team (captain, remember?), so obviously sharing his thoughts has never been a problem of his. Sidestepping the fact that debate-teams just recycle other people's thoughts and beliefs, Misha is under the opinion that words are not enough in the real world. That if you’re going to share your opinion, you have to make your listeners feel it.

That's the part that makes him sigh. He doesn't have listeners. No one's really listening to what he has to say. Sure he has opinions, but so does every other person on the planet. “It won't matter how I say it,” Jared argues right back. “I'm one man, one freshman. My opinion doesn't matter in the face of the bigger picture.”

“A mosaic is a bigger picture made up of a bunch of smaller pictures,” Misha tells him, and this is new, so Jared listens. He likes what Misha has to say, likes that Misha talks to him like he's not an idiot. It feels like teaching without the condescension. Misha's opinions matter, but Jared is nothing like Misha, who is bright and loud and wild and heard by the world. “Every single one of those smaller pictures are different, but they make the bigger picture what it is. They matter, they give it depth and shade and detail. Your opinion matters, and it should be heard.”

“No one's listening.”

“So make them listen.”

“By swearing?”

“By making them feel it,” Misha breaths out, flailing a little in exclamation. “Make it matter. It's not about swearing, it's about emotion. It's about giving your words life. Do I know that my ostrich simile irritates you? Yes. Will I take that irritation seriously? No.”

He's giving Jared that look that says 'I'm waiting'. So Jared sucks in a breath, pausing on the board walk and says in a rush, “I'm not a fucking ostrich.”

Misha just smiles, nodding his head. “Now say it like you mean it.”

“Misha...”

“Do it Jared.”

“I'm not a fucking ostrich,” he says, a little louder, a little firmer. He peeks at Misha, whose eyes are narrowed, daring and then... then it all just comes tumbling out of him. “I'm not a fucking ostrich!”

A middle age man jumps beside him, startled. “Of course you aren't sonny,” he says, patting Jared on the arm and scurrying off.

Jared is embarrassed, pink heat burning his cheeks but it's nowhere near what he thinks he might have felt a year ago. Hell, a month ago. He feels weirdly better for it, not the swearing, as he said, his momma taught him better than that, but...he's not sure. He just feels better. Bigger. Taller. Something.

Misha is grinning like a proud papa, as he hooks his arm in Jared's and tugs them along. “This deserves celebrating,” he tells Jared, in a voice that he has learned welcomes no brokering.

  


  
**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/) **

****

  
Misha is currently rummaging through Tom's tiny closet. “I need clothes,” he announces, already halfway to Narnia. Gayest straight man ever, he thinks not for the first time.

“You might want to try Jensen's closet,” Tom says, from his place at his desk. “Or that weird blonde kid, Chad. He's more your size.”

Misha pulls his head out of the closet only far enough to glare at Tom for that comparison. He's taller then Chad by inches, and certainly broader. Also, Misha knows that Chad goes commando, and while he is not generally against free-balling, Chad is gross. “Not for me, for Jared.”

Jared is actually taller then Tom, a novelty that has yet to lose its entertainment value. It's only an inch or so, but when you're five foot eight like Misha, in a world of six-footers, every inch counts.

“That makes more sense I suppose,” Tom agrees as Misha returns to his pillaging. “If Jared was a barbie doll. Seriously, why are you playing dress-the-giant?”

“I'm taking him to a party,” Misha replies, holding up a pair of jeans. “Do these fit you?I swear, Jared owns nothing but khaki cargo pants. Which is good if you’re exploring the possibility of becoming a butch lesbian, or smuggling tiny Mexicans over the border, but not for a party.”

“They're a little long in the back,” Tom says, giving him the go ahead. “You can't take a freshman to a party, Misha. That's condoning underage drinking.”

“Your legs come up to my chin! How is it possible that these are too long?” Misha asks, folding them over his arm, and turning to Mike's t-shirts. “If I don't see him drink, it didn't happen.”

“My mom likes to buy things I can grow into,” Tom explains, pushing up out of his computer chair in favor of leaning against the closet door jam. “Misha.”

“You can't possibly still be growing. It's a crime against nature and I won't stand for it,” Misha replies distractedly, and then replies to the other conversation they seem to be having with a simple, “Tom.”

“No, those are from last year. Fuck the pants Misha, I'm serious. You can't take Jared to a party,” Tom says sternly, but he's also reaching into the closet, plucking out a plain black v-net t-shirt, and shoving it in Misha's hands. Misha loves a good contradiction, but now is not the time. He's got a freshman to dress.

“Tom,” Misha says with a sigh. “He's been in college for almost three months. He hasn't gone to any parties, and he doesn't know anyone but me. You know me! That can't be healthy! He's shy, and he needs help and he needs to go to a college party.” Misha feels without a doubt that parties are fundamental environments for interactive social learning at any age. Tea parties, teen parties, college parties, even bridge-club; it's where you get down with your bad-self, dammit. To the growing and maturing young-adult, they are the proverbial watering hole of the educated youth. Mean Girls totally had it right.

Tom is looking at him now, thick eyebrows pulled together. “You really like him,” he says after a fashion. “This Jared kid, you really like him. You never get this excited about hanging out with any one that isn't Mike, Jensen or me. Mike says you spend half your week with the kid.”

“So,” Misha replies, tamping down on the niggling defensive itch. Tom is not being mean or mocking, he's simply curious. It's just his way. “Jared's my friend.”

And just like Misha knew it would (he can be manipulative when necessary and sometimes when it's not), Tom's argument melts away. Misha does not make friends as a rule, he makes... minions at best. Mike, Jensen and Tom have been it for him for the last four years. There have been no others; sure some have tried but none have lasted long enough to matter. Except for now; except for Jared.

“Does he know about you----”

The defensive niggle is back full force, scratching up Misha's throat. “Everyone has issues, Jared gets that,” he finds himself saying tightly. “He goes with it.” Jared has yet to run screaming from the hills and he'd caught Misha doing naked closet yoga. Or at least that's what they'd decided to call it. Misha was actually attempting to see if he could get his cock into his mouth. He can.

“Misha,” Tom says, and it's not chastising but it still makes Misha feel like a child. He's older then Tom, for fucks sake, so the feeling is anything but pleasant. Only Mike can get away with that shit.“You need to tell him.”

“The details don't matter,” Misha argues, shaking his head. He doesn't want to tell Jared that he's anything. The fact of the matter is, his obsessive kleptomania is just one leaf on a whole tree of reasons that makes Misha an... undesirable.

“Until you steal his term paper!”

“I turned it in for you on time!” Misha protests, because he did. He even proof-read, edited, and re-printed it, not that he ever told Tom that. He's confident that he brought the paper up by at least half a grade but he's not really one to brag or anything....

Tom rolls his eyes like Misha missed the point. “You need to tell him.”

“I will,” Misha promises. “Just not yet.”

“Misha,” Tom says sadly. “If you don't tell him, you know Mike will eventually. Especially if it seems like Jared's going to be sticking around. Your friends are our friends. Well, they would be if you had any.”

“Why wouldn't he stick around?” Misha asks, looking away. He knows why. Misha is hard to handle on good days. He's an eidetic, obsessive-compulsive, kleptomaniac stoner whereas Jared is an impressionable, naive, young freshman who blushes when he see's people kiss. It's a wonder he hasn't run screaming from Misha already.   
.   
“Misha,” Tom says, and he can't handle that pitying look, so he huffs and leaves. But not before stealing Tom's car-keys. Serves the Debbie Downer right.

He's barely out of the door when he hears Tom's rough chuckle. “Give em' back, magpie.”

He throws them at Tom's stupid face, but he's a tiny bit high from the Ativan he took before coming, so he misses. That's pretty much his life in a nutshell.

The party is being thrown by Jensen's band-friends, Chris, Steve, and a generally interchangeable third member, all three of which do not, did not, and won't be attending college. While Misha wholeheartedly endorses the furthering of one's education (for however long you can milk it) he also agrees that talent should never be wasted.

“Chris!” He says happily, tugging Jared along by the wrist. Chris, Steve, and Jensen are all in the tiny kitchen with the keg, talking about set-equipment and other things Misha doesn't care about. The house is full to bursting with people of varying ages. It's loud and cramped, and smells of beer and pot. Jared looks appropriately terrified. “Steve! Jenny!”

“Misha!” They cry out, but Jensen's happy face seems to melt away a little as his eyes settle on Jared. “Hey Padalecki.” It's not that he cares that Misha brought him, he knows that. It's more that good R.A.s are really not supposed to condone underage drinking. Good thing Misha is a horrible RA.

“This is Jared,” Misha introduces easily. “He's a freshman. I'm his RA. So is Jensen. Pity that; we can't give him alcohol.” He gives both Steve and Chris a meaningful look, and then grabs Jensen's face and turns it. “Hey Jenny, look over there.”

When they look back, Jared is holding a red cup full of foamy, pale golden liquid. He shrugs his broadening (they've been working out) shoulders with a dimpled grin. Tilting the cup up to his mouth, he takes a drink. “Mmm. Apple-juice,” he lies shamelessly, and Misha knows that a month ago, Jared would have stuttered his way through that careless little fib. He's growing.

Misha nods solemnly at Jared before turning to Jensen, making sure he's not going to pitch a bitchy fit. “It's not our fault that Jared is a filthy liar.”

Jensen takes a moment, but the laugh comes and he shakes his head at the pair of them. “Don't drink too much apple juice kid, I don't think Misha can carry your big ass home by himself.”

“Hey,” Jared says, with mock indignation, eyes shining. “Are you calling my ass fat? My ass is fantastic.”

“Uh oh,” Jensen says with a grin, and Misha winces. “Doesn't that sound familiar?”

It does. Misha remembers the exact words falling out of his own mouth many a moon ago. It had led to an incredibly gay and frank discussion on man butt (which Jensen had even joined, mainly because his butt really is fantastic) and...well. One thing led to another, butt-cheeks were groped, sexualities were questioned. And then? Then Gay Chicken. Those are the exact words that led to Gay Chicken.

“Them's fighting words,” Misha jokes, somewhat nervously. “Seriously though, don't----”

“Did someone mention fantastic ass?”

And there is Mike. With his tongue in Jared's mouth. Mike is a Gay Chicken Ninja. He's also really, really drunk, if Misha is right, which he usually is. He's drunk and happy and tonguing Misha's freshman.

It's weird, what happens then. Misha isn't sure when he stopped watching Mike lick Jared's mouth open, and started just hating Mike. It's weird, because he loves Mike. Mike is his best friend, his protector, his daily voice of reason. But he hates Mike's tongue in Jared's mouth, Mike's hands in Jared's hair, and Mike's chest against Jared's chest. He can feel his eye twitching, and his heart racing, and his skin going clammy with too much adrenaline and no where to burn it. It's all wrong, the feelings are all wrong. Misha is...Misha is...

He's jealous

  


  


Jared is having a crisis. It might be a quarter-life crisis, or a freshman crisis, but he's pretty sure it's closer to a 'oh my god a man stuck his tongue in my mouth and I maybe didn't hate it' crisis. The worst part of it is that he doesn't have any one to talk to. He hasn't made any friends outside of Misha and... well. He doesn't feel comfortable talking to Misha about Mike. Misha has described himself as a pansexual. He doesn't see genders, just attraction. Would he even understand Jared's dilemma? Misha is so in control of his sexuality, so confident. Jared... is apparently not. He hates seeming like a child to Misha, not when Misha is just... No. No, he can't talk to Misha about this.   
  
He tries to break it down to attraction, not because he thinks he's ominsexual or pansexual or whatever, but just because it would be easier. Alexis is pretty. She's got bright blue eyes, messy dark hair, and a pixie face. Jared knows that he likes her aesthetically but...   
  
When they'd fooled around (he can't call it sex because... because it just couldn't be) Jared just remembers being kind of terrified they would get caught, and kind of embarrassed by how forward Alexis had been. She'd just... climbed right up on him (in the back of his mom's Volvo, of all things. His sister and her friends carpooled in there.) and... well. It was safe to say that the end results were... not what he expected. He hadn't even come, faking the orgasm just to get it over with (oh god, but what the fuck does this say about him?) The whole thing had been followed up by an unsurprising 'it's not you, it's me, let's be friends, we're different people and we want different things' break up conversation. Which Jared had actually started.   
  
It's just that... okay, he knows that it was Gay Chicken. But at the time, all that registered was that there was a tongue in his mouth. So, in reality, he hadn't even registered that it was a male tongue. So really, it isn't gay that it turned him on. Yeah, Jared can't lie to himself any better then he can lie to anyone else.   
  
He'd lost that round of Gay Chicken when he'd opened his eyes, saw Mike and then consequentially shoved him away in surprise. Unfortunately his surprise hadn't been at Mike, it had been the unmistakable flood of heat that had rushed southward when he realized it was Mike kissing him. Mike was a good looking guy, Jared figured. Shorter then Jared, but solid and... and firm, or something. It wasn't so much the idea of Mike that made him hard but... he didn't know. He couldn't explain it. He'd shoved Mike away, yeah, but mainly because well... he was kind of hard.   
  
Much like he was kind of hard now, thinking about it. Yeah, Jared couldn't lie to himself at all.   
  
“Jared, focus!”   
  
And this was really not the time to be thinking about it, but for the last two weeks, Jared could be hard pressed to think about anything else. He opens his mouth to tell his English in Modern Education partner, Sandy McCoy, that he's sorry, and he's just a little distracted but what comes out of his mouth instead sounds a lot like, “I think I might be gay.”   
  
What. The. Fuck.   
  
He tenses up, waits for the horror that is sure to follow. Instead, all he finds is Sandy McCoy in his lap (what is with these girls, sheesh), a maniacal look of unadulterated glee on her face. “We should make out.”   
  
“What?” Jared's mind stutters as he grabs her hips to keep her from bouncing around too much. It's making him dizzy (frighteningly, that's about all it's doing). “That's...the opposite of what I said, actually. What?”   
  
She's unperturbed, and she's also taking off her shirt. Jesus Christ, he's not prepared for this. He'd seen Alexis's boobs (very small and non-threatening but Sandy... is not Alexis. “Well, you said you thought you might be gay. So, kiss me.”   
  
“Do you have to be shirtless?”   
  
“Jesus Christ, you really might be gay,” she huffs, but pointedly does not put her shirt back on. She's tiny in his lap, shins barely touching the bed, but she cups his face in both her hands and brings their mouths together without an ounce of shame or hesitance.   
  
She's a good kisser. The right amount of tongue, not too wet, not too forceful. She's pulling on his hair, which yeah, turns out he kind of likes that. Her boobs are kind of distracting, an opinion she apparently does not agree with as she takes his hand and cups it over her bra. If it turns out he likes girls, he's 100% sure he does not like forward girls. He doesn’t' think he's much of a breast-man either. He’d smack Megan silly if she acted like this. The thought of his sister doing this is also a total mood killer.   
  
But then Sandy is grinding into him, rolling her hips right up against his crotch. Dick, Misha's voice pops into his head. It's your dick, he says in Jared's head, not your crotch. Dick, dick, dick. Somehow, it could be the lack of oxygen, the images get mixed in his head, and suddenly he’s thinking Misha in his lap kissing him. Which seems less offensive then Alexis or Sandy, and maybe a lot more hot.   
  
Jared's kind of screwed.   
  
Okay fine whatever - fucked.   
  
Jared is fucked.   
  
“Well,” Sandy says, pulling back with a very flush-faced grin. “I don't think you’re gay.”   
  
She nudges forward, another roll of her hips against his dick. His alarmingly hard dick.   
  
It makes him panic because for the… oh, let's say the last thirty seconds (the seconds in which his dick decided to check in) he hadn't been thinking of Sandy. He cups her butt -ass- and lifts her up in a panic. “I don't think----”   
  
And then there is a knock on the door, followed quickly by a Misha in the doorway. He looks like he was talking, mouth open, but silent. Gaping, is probably a good word here. “Ho'shit,” he breathes, clamping his eyes shut. For good measure, he slaps a hand over his eyes too, and backs out the door with a rushed apology, running into the door frame twice. “Sorry.”   
  
The door clicks shut behind him, a loud sound in the quiet dorm. Sandy is on her phone and Jared is struck with a horrible thought. “Please don't tell people.”   
  
Looking up from the screen, she gives him a sweet smile. It kind of contradicts the shirt on his floor, but whatever. She has a baby face, sweet and disarming, and yeah, it works. Jared feels a tiny bit calmer for it.   
  
“I'm not,” she promises. “Anyway, don't worry about your semi-gay crisis. If you're not sure you're straight by the end of the week, then you'll know,” she says, popping off his lap. The comment makes him wary; it's said with the air of someone planning. She gets her shirt on, and pecks Jared on the cheek. “This was fun. If you end up straight, you should totally call me.”   
  
“Uh... the project?”   
  
“I think you need the day off,” she says with that same disarming smile. “I'm free Tuesday evening. That good?”   
  
“I usually run in the afternoon,” he says, going through his mental schedule. “But yeah, I'll stop by after I shower.”   
  
Her charming smile shifts into an almost feral grin. She gives him slow, sliding look-over. And yeah, realistically, he knows that he looks a little less lean, a little less lanky. Misha is a goddamn slave driver, and while he will firmly attest that Yoga is not his thing, he'll admit it's done wonders for his butt. Ass. Whatever.   
  
“You do that,” she says at last.

 

 

** [](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/) **

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**[](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/)**  
  
Misha hates the world. Or maybe, it's just that the world hates Misha. He's not sure. Either way, something is terribly, terribly wrong.  
  
It started out with Mike. Mike has yet to figure out how he earned Misha's ire, which is good because Misha is not one-hundred percent sure why either. Except for the part where he totally is. Oh, he knows why he can't look Mike in the face without getting super butt-hurt.  
  
He knew he liked Jared. He just hadn't realized how much.  
  
Misha might just be in love with Jared.  
  
This is a problem.  
  
Maybe it isn't love. How the hell would Misha know? He's pretty sure he's never been in love before. He's mostly sure he's never felt like this before; clammy, emotional and more or less spastic. What he does know for certain is that the very sudden, insidious, organ-boiling level of his raging jealousy is probably unhealthy. Bad for the chakra's, or whatever.  
  
It had been one thing with Mike; he'd mostly gotten over it. Or at least, he'd been able to go back and look at the situation in a more analytical manner. The kiss hadn't even mattered, and yet he still rage-quit a friendship for a good two weeks. He really should apologize to Mike. It was just Mike being Mike. And Jared had been appropriately repulsed by it, as any straight man would be, but he hadn't flipped. He'd laughed it off and drank some more. Misha had been impressed. Even if it had upset Misha, the fact of the matter was he understood the context of the kiss.  
  
He did not however, understand the context of Sandy McCoy, and her purpose in Jared's lap. Okay, okay, he's not an idiot. He's an increasingly educated college grad-student. He knows what she was doing in his lap; what he doesn't know is what the fuck she was doing in Jared's lap. He's never claimed to be the most logical of people.  
  
Misha knows Jared is straight. He's known since he's known Jared. It was never an issue, just a part of the package that made up Jared. Jared was tall, Jared was eighteen, Jared was straight. It wasn't a problem up until the point Misha was forced to face it as a fact. It was no longer just a minute detail, but an undeniable truth. Jared likes girls. And hey, that's cool, Misha likes girls too.  
  
But mostly, Misha just likes Jared.  
  
It might have been okay if it had started and ended with Sandy. It would have sucked, but Misha is sure that if Jared were dating Sandy, he'd deal. He's great at dealing. And he likes Jared, wants Jared to be happy. If Sandy made Jared happy, Misha would be mostly happy too.  
  
But Jared is not dating Sandy. Jared is not dating any one, as far as Misha can tell. That's mostly the problem. Misha is sure that if Jared were dating someone, about seventy-eight percent of his Jared problems would be non-existent.  
  
But he is single, and apparently everyone knows it. Misha bases this deduction on the fact that girls keep kissing Jared. Randomly and at inopportune times. Like when Misha is talking to him, or when they're doing their laundry, trying to eat breakfast, drink coffee, or walk to class. The fact of the matter is that girls keep kissing Jared, and it's pissing Misha off.  
  
It started out on a Wednesday. They were in on-campus laundry-op, down to their sweats as they jammed several machines full. They'd taken to mixing their white loads (and doesn't that sound dirty?) to save money. Jared was leaning against one of the folding tables, looking particularly sweaty and delicious in his loose sleep-pants and not exactly clean wife-beater.  
  
Misha had been using that quiet moment to innocently take note of the changes in Jared since he'd met him. His shoulders were broader, soft muscles swelling gently beneath tan skin. His face had already lost some of its baby fat, jaw sharpening almost before Misha's eyes. His previously soft, flat stomach was now etched with the faint lines of freshly developing abs. All in all, Jared had changed, grown even, if only into his skin. He no longer absently hunched in on himself in a desperate attempt to make himself small and unseen. Misha was kind of proud of him and how far he'd come. The freshman-shell had only just been cracked, and Jared was already coming into himself.  
  
“Hey,” a female voice interrupts his thoughts. He looks up to find it isn't him being spoken to, but Jared. “You're Jared Padalecki, right? Sandy's friend.”  
  
Sandy. Misha's eyes narrow at the petite blonde. He remembers her: Katie Cassidy, freshman, undeclared Biology major, born July eighteenth, allergic to mushrooms---  
  
“Uh yeah,” Jared replies, fidgeting instantly. He's nervous; girls make him nervous, that much is obvious. It's not promising. “Um, what can I do for you?” Jared asks, flashing his wonder-bread smile.  
  
And then? Then the girl kisses him. Just hooks her claws into the front of his tank and yanks him down to her face. It's short but deep and... obviously wet. She releases him with a smirk, and a slutty little wink. She grabs her pink plastic hamper full of skanky underwear (probably, Misha didn't really look), and heads for the door. “See ya around, Jared.”  
  
“Um...okay?” Jared says belatedly, dazedly. Once she's gone, he looks to Misha, clearly baffled, and not a little red in the face. “What the fuck was that?”  
  
Misha's so utterly confused (and seething with jealousy) he doesn't even notice Jared said fuck until much, much later.  
  
It keeps happening. Katie Cassidy becomes Kristen Bell, and Kristen Bell becomes Genevieve Cortese. She's not even a freshman. She's a junior feminist major, and she's scary. Misha was sure she was a lesbian, but... maybe not. Misha and Jared are talking in the line for the coffee cart when she sinks her fangs in him mid-sentence. She practically steps on Misha to get to Jared, and she's not quick about it either. She licks her way right into his mouth, and cops at least two feels. Jared is careful, (he's always so polite) and keeps his hands to himself during the ride. When she's done, she pinches Jared's ass and winks at Misha. He hates her. He really, really hates her. The coffee-guy has to clear his throat twice. Once to get Jared's attention, and once to get Misha's attention (he had been busy glaring at Gen's retreating body.)  
  
By the end of the week, Jared isn't even blushing any more when it happens. He's brushing his teeth twice as much, and has made it a habit to chew a lot of gum (which he's lost three times during these kiss attacks). Now instead of gaping stupidly at the violators, Jared hugs them, laying on his Texas charm with a dimpled smile as he waves them off. It's lost its novelty apparently, not that the stupid trollops have gotten the message.  
  
Misha's going to end up killing someone. Hopefully it's not any one important. At the moment though? He has bigger problems.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blanket Warning For Sexual Situations, Underage Drinking, Drug Use, Substance Abuse, Teen Pregnancy, Stealing, Loose Morals, and Scenes of a Decidedly Homosexual Nature. Oh and Swearing.

** [ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/) **

  
He's being kiss-bombed. That is the only appropriate term for it. Jared has never been kissed so much in his life. And by so many girls. There are literally girls he has never seen before in his life taking the time to attach themselves to his face. Half of them he never even gets a name for, they come and go so quickly. And that's fine; it's the ones who linger that freak him out.   
  
He corners Sandy outside the commissary three days into the attacks. “What the hell did you do?”   
  
She looks smug behind her cup of coffee. “Hey Jared, it's nice to see you. How's your week been? Mine's been great. I bought a new pair of yoga pants and this guy at the gym hit on me.”   
  
“My week has been ridicul-mmph!” And suddenly if not surprisingly, there's a tongue in his mouth. He goes with it, as he has learned that's all he can do, and kisses back with a modicum of enthusiasm. He mostly just wants to figure out what the hell Sandy did. The girl pulls back and Jared wipes the lip gloss of his mouth. “Thank you, that was great,” he tells her with a big, fake smile, before sending her on her way. Sandy is still there, staring unabashedly. “I hate you. You did this.”   
  
“So you are gay?” Sandy asks, not looking the least bit put out by it.   
  
“I don't know! I'm more confused now then I was before,” Jared hisses. “What the hell did you do?”   
  
“I sent out a mass picture text,” she says, entirely too unrepentant. “Relax, I didn't say anything about your sexuality-crisis. I just said that you'd never been kissed.”   
  
“Yeah, even if that were true, which it wasn't, thank you, it would have become ridiculously apparent that I had been by the first day. The second at most. That girl just now? That's like her third kiss-bomb.”   
  
“It's... kind of become a game or something. Apparently, you're way too hot to be that inexperienced. Look,” she whipped out her phone, “you even have a facebook page where people can check in. That last girl, Allison - that was her fourth kiss. It's like a competition, there's even a ten dollar entry fee. Whoever gets the most documented kisses wins the money. Oh, hey look - she must have had a friend take a picture. Awe, I look cute there.” She's still squinting at her iPhone screen when he yanks it out of her hand.   
  
Yep, sure enough, there is his picture. He's in his running gear, looking sweaty but happy. It's a candid picture, one he didn't even know about, but he can place it to the exact moment. He can see Misha's elbow in it, knows that Misha was just telling him about the time Mike was so drunk he tried to take a piss standing on his knees and ended up dropping the toilet seat on his balls.   
  
He scrolls through the pictures; in every one he has a new girl on his mouth. In the earlier ones, he looks surprised. There are even a few where he looks very much into it. The last picture is about two minutes old. It's captured him at the exact moment he chose to wipe away the lip gloss, giving it an 'eww cooties' kind of feel to it. Which, while not exactly what was going through his head, wasn't far off. The whole thing is ridiculous. His mother would smack him silly if she ever found this.   
  
“Call off your dogs,” Jared begs, handing her the phone back. “I can't take it anymore.”   
  
“Relax,” Sandy says, waving off his pleas. “It's only till Friday. Hasn't it helped at all?”   
  
He takes a moment, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “I don't know, maybe.”   
  
She's got that maniacal look in her eye again, phone clutched in her talons. “I have gay friends,” she says. “I could---”   
  
“Please don't,” he says, suddenly catching on to her plan. “Please? The last thing I need it a bunch of guys kissing me all over the place.”   
  
“Oh I don't know,” Sandy sings, dropping her phone into her bag. “I'd love to see a bunch of guys kiss you all over the place.”   
  
“That's not what I meant, and shut up,” Jared replies tiredly. “I would really just like to figure this out on my own, okay? Not that I don't appreciate your help, but I'm kind of developing a reputation.”   
  
“Yeah, as a total babe-magnet,” Sandy says with a shrug. “Seriously, what kind of guy doesn't want to look like he has girls falling all over them?”   
  
Jared just sighs. “I'm just... really not like that.”   
  
Her face softens, and she nods. “All right, all right. I can't call them off, but as far as I know, this game or whatever they're doing, ends Friday.”   
  
He hides out in his room that evening; as the week draws to an end, the girls only appear to be growing more aggressive. He's tempted to tell Misha about the whole game-thing going on, but then he might have to tell him how it started. It isn't that he's ashamed or can't trust Misha. At this point, it's more that he's embarrassed. He seriously doubts that Misha has ever had a sexuality crisis, much less because some guy kissed him at a party. It's stupid. He feels stupid.   
  
He feels more stupid because he can't seem to get his head on straight. He keeps misplacing things and losing things; his books, his pencils, the photograph tacked to his wall of his mom and sister. Either that, or Chad is stealing them. Which, if Chad is stealing pictures of his little sister, well... Jared is going to punch him really hard in the throat.   
  
He's mostly caught up on his homework, save for his Classic English essay. His book is missing, and he's already torn through his room, to no avail. Half an hour into his search, he gives up, flopping down on the bed. He's stressed out and tired, and just wants a freaking nap. He'll check Misha's tomorrow, it's probably there.   
  
  
  


**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/) **

  
  
He can't stop stealing Jared's shit. He's staring at Jared's copy of Charlotte Brontë's The Foundling. He knows that Jared has an essay due for the book at the end of the week. He's trying to figure out a way of returning it subtly, when Mike stops by.   
  
“Hey dick,” Mike says from the doorway. “Got your fruit basket. Where the fuck do you find shit like that?”   
  
Misha snorted. Two days earlier, he'd ordered Mike a basket full of dildos, and the Gay Kamasutra as an apology for being a total shit. “Not from 1-800-Flowers, I can tell you that.”   
  
Mike nods, dropping down on Misha's bed. “I accept your apology,” he says without a moment's hesitance. “Want to tell me what’s up?”   
  
“I like Jared,” Misha admits.   
  
Mike is... not surprised, to say the least. He laughs at Misha, which is no less than he expected. “No shit, ass hat,” Mike says, with no sympathy. “Seriously, I was wondering when you'd notice.”   
  
The hint behind Mike's words punch Misha in the proverbial nuts. “You kissed him so I'd realize I liked him!?” It's definitely something Mike would do. Misha wishes he was more surprised.   
  
“I didn't plan it if that's what you’re asking,” Mike says, rolling onto his belly. He pokes Misha in the knee cap. “I just took the opportunity when I saw it. But dude, you were mooning. Now you're angsting. I'm not sure which one's better, but at least progress has been made.”   
  
“How is this better? I want my fruit basket back because you don't deserve it, and I need it because I'm going to die sad and alone. Making me realize I'm in love with my straight friend isn't fucking progress. It's a nightmare and I hate you.”   
  
Mikes face softens. “Love, Mish?”   
  
“Well I don't know,” Misha pouts. “…have...feelings, for him. I want to hit girls, Mike.”   
  
“Yeah I heard Jared's been eating in his room lately,” Mike commented, seamlessly translating Misha's non-sequitur. “I saw Danneel-freaking-Harris check his tonsils with her tongue on the quad, dude. And I'm pretty sure she stole his gum. Jensen was pissed. You know he's been after her tail for like a year.”   
  
“I hate everyone,” Misha grumbles. “Seriously. He's straight. He's white-bread-and-mayo country boy straight.”   
  
“He's eighteen,” Mike replies, waving his hand flippantly. “His sexuality is hardly set in stone. He's young and tender and easily manipulated.”   
  
“I don't want to turn Jared gay,” Misha groans, leaning back in his computer chair. “Seriously, that's the worst idea ever and you once convinced me to let that skeevy bartender with the weird nipples pierce my sac with a safety-pin.” There were some pains you simply could not be drunk enough for. That had been one of them.   
  
Mike rolls his eyes so hard his stupid owl hat should have been knocked off. “Just spout some of that attraction-not-gender shit. You're his own personal sensei. Seriously, the kid idolizes you.”   
  
“Shut up, no he doesn't,” Misha denies, even if the idea was disturbingly appealing. “I don't want to talk about it anymore.”   
  
“All right, all right. We don't have to talk about Jared,” Mike concedes, kicking off his shoes. They thunk one at a time on to the floor, and Misha sprays his Febreeze defensively before the scent of Mike's feet can hit him. “How you doing?”   
  
“I'm in..in...I'm in feelings with my straight best friend,” Misha says flatly. Even though he doesn't want to talk about Jared, he can't not. It's 99.9 Jared FM in his head, twenty-four seven. “I can't stop stealing his shit. I'm horny and irritated and everything sucks.”   
  
“No shit you're horny,” Mike says with a snort. “Have you even had sex since you met Jared?”   
  
“What? Yes,” he says, but he has to think about it. “Yeah, I have.” He has, but... not in the last month, for sure. He just hadn't had the time to hook up. He'd been busy hanging out with Jared.   
  
He's a total idiot.   
  
“You know, we don't even play Gay-Chicken anymore,” Mike says, conversationally. He doesn't sound upset, like Misha hadn't pretty much abandoned him for something new and shiny. “It's kind of what clued me in.”   
  
“I'm sorry Mike,” Misha says with a tired sigh. “I've been kind of suckish lately. I just---”   
  
“Shut up Mish,” Mike cuts him off fondly. “I'm kind of happy you have Jared. Contrary to what you've apparently been told, it's good to be in feelings.”   
  
“He's straight.”   
  
“He's eighteen and undefined.”   
  
“He's straight.”   
  
“He's... coming up the hall,” Mike replies, lifting his head up just enough to look out the door.   
  
Sure enough, three seconds later, Jared is there. “Hey Mike, Misha. Have you seen my---”   
  
“Bronte?” Misha asks dully, holding up the pilfered text. “Yep.” Most of Jared's 'lost' things end up here. You'd think the kid would figure it out, but he hasn't.   
  
“Oh awesome,” Jared replies brightly, flopping down on Mike’s beanbag. “Thought I lost it. I couldn't remember if I brought it over here or not. Stupid essay's due at the end of the week. What are you two up to?”   
  
“We're discussing the definition of sexuality,” Mike says smoothly, and also much to Misha's horror. “See, I don't believe someone can commit to a sexuality until they're at least mid-twenties. I think youth is fickle, you know? I mean, an eighteen year old can barely decide what to eat for dinner, let alone what they want to fuck forever. You're eighteen, what do you think Jared?”   
  
Jared looks...horrified. He's also not so subtly looking to Misha for some sort of help. Misha, suddenly struck by his own curiosity and pathetically desperate for Jared's answer, just shrugs. He sucks at friendship.   
  
“Uh,” Jared says, scratching his thigh. “I think it probably has a lot to do with... experience?” He doesn't sound particularly sure about his answer. He's still looking to Misha, like he wants his approval, and Misha is struck with the urge to hug him and tell him that he doesn't need it.   
  
Mike though, Mike's grin splits his face. “Ah, yes. The try-it-before-you-buy-it mentality, I like it. So, you're in the opinion that sexuality is limited to experience?”   
  
“I... no,” Jared says a little more firmly. “I mean, I'm sure some people know they're gay without... experience. But, uh... without the actions to back it up I guess it's a lot like claiming you love chocolate, but never actually trying it. It's an untested theory. It doesn't make it wrong, per se... just....”   
  
“Okay,” Mike says, sitting up on the bed. Jared is flushing all the way down to the neck of his shirt, and maybe even farther, but Misha tries not to think about anything under Jared's clothes in the presences of others. “What about the opposite? Can you claim heterosexuality without trying its opposite? How do you know you don't like butt se---”   
  
“We call them anal-relations in this room, thank you,” Misha cut him off with a very stern wave of his hand. “I'll re-word it when we make lesbian friends, but until then, they're anal-relations.”   
  
“Fine,” Mike huffs at him, punching him in the knee. “How can you say you don't like anal-relations, without trying it.”   
  
“This question is invalid,” Misha says, before Jared can form a reply, because now he feels less embarrassed on Jared's behalf and more interested. Misha loves arguing, and goddammit, Mike knows it. Sneaky ninja bastard. “Ass-play has nothing to do with sexuality. You can enjoy prostate stimulation and be completely heterosexual. Just look at Jen--"   
  
“If you don't finish that sentence, I promise to agree with you,” Mike cuts him off quickly. Misha is suitably smug. “Jensen is a kinky freak and shouldn't be valid in this conversation. Four words; Rhonda Hurley's pink panties.”   
  
“Fine. Anyway, I was just saying that anal penetration isn't a purely homosexual act,” He flails a bit, waving his hand broadly. “I mean, there's anal penetration in heterosexual relationships. Plenty of guys enjoy a finger up their ass, even if they'd prefer to never have a dick up there. Not to mention pegging--”   
  
“Yes, let’s not mention pegging,” Mike nods. “All right, all right. So, fine. Whatever. How can you know you wouldn't enjoy being with a member of the same sex without trying it? I mean, being gay, or having gay leanings is a lot more than just wanting stick your dick in someone's ass.”   
  
“Or have a dick stuck in yours,” Misha corrects.   
  
“It's about... attraction,” Mike says, without agreeing. Misha just assumes it's because his point is totally valid and not because Mike is an unrepentant top.   
  
“You don't need to have sex to be attracted to someone,” Jared finally manages to put in, looking as if he could actually die from embarrassment. “You can know you're attracted to someone without ever sleeping with them. Isn't that usually how it goes? I mean, why sleep with someone if you’re not attracted? Plus, you can go your whole life without ever meeting a member of the same sex you're attracted to, but that doesn't mean they don't exist.”   
  
“If that's true, then you are saying sexuality is limited to experience,” Mike argues. “You can't be gay without having gay sex. Sex is the deal breaker.”   
  
“That's just ridiculous. I never said sexuality was limited to experience,” Jared responds, sitting up a little. Misha likes it, the way Jared looks a little more... sure of himself. “Just that... we limit ourselves, maybe? I mean, you're saying that virgins have no sexuality. But they do have attraction. What I'm saying, I guess is... don't knock it till you try it.”   
  
“I like you, kid!” Mike barks out a surprised laugh, eyes bright. “ Don't knock it till you try it, ha! It always comes down to that, huh?”   
  
Jared smiles a little, looking slightly more at ease. “I don't know. I guess it's different for very one. I mean, I think some people can have straight sex once and believe they're straight, but they're limiting themselves to other possibilities.”   
  
“Basically you believe that everyone is a little bisexual?” Mike asks, propping his chin on his hand and studying Jared with far too much intensity. He's digging now, and it's obvious to Misha. He'd be more upset if he wasn't so desperate to know himself.   
  
“Like I said,” Jared replies, shrinking back under their mutual scrutiny. “I don't think that people can truly identify to any sexuality until they explore it.”   
  
Misha is curious now. “So... you don't identify to any particular sexuality?” Mike pretty much just called Jared a virgin. Lovely.   
  
“I have had sex,” Jared defends himself. He flushes immediately, pink beneath his tan, and Misha just wants to bite him. A little. Right there on the sharp curve of his jaw. It's disconcerting. “Uh... but if I'm limited to my experiences, I guess I'm straight.  


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 **[](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/)  
**

  
The following evening does not go as planned by any means. It's the day before Christmas break, and he'd intended to spend it with Misha. But then Chad invited him to a frat party which did not sound like any kind of fun . Which was why Jared had used Misha as an excuse not to go. Apparently Misha was not on board with this plan.  
  
“Chad invited me to a party,” he says, dropping down onto Misha's bed. The whole room kind of smells like cherry-lube and Misha is a little red in the face, blankets pulled up to his chin. Forty-eight seconds of silence and Misha's burning red face later, and Jared is about ninety percent sure he's caught Misha post-jerk-off. He doesn't really understand that; Misha is a very good looking guy, and also pretty charismatic once you get past the weirdness. Jared can't wrap his head around Misha needing to resort to masturbation. It's depressing really; if people like Misha can't get laid there isn't any hope for guys like Jared. He squirms a little, catching a whiff of Misha's shampoo and sweat. There is a distinct lack of come-smell. Maybe he hadn't walked in on Misha post-orgasmic. What if Misha was---  
  
“And you're here?” Misha asks, a little breathlessly. And yeah, maybe Jared should learn how to knock. He really can't think about Misha jerking off, not with everything else going on. He just can't. His brain cannot handle it. “Why?” Misha reiterates, when Jared doesn't manage a reply.  
  
He doesn't make the question sound like he isn't welcomed, but sometimes Jared wonders what Misha did before he met Jared. They really do spend a lot of time together. He can't imagine that Misha isn't getting sick of him a little bit. “Because you don't go out on Fridays,” Jared replies, rolling onto his back to stare at Misha. Really, Jared needs to learn boundaries. What kind of guy just crawls into bed with another? He should have left the first seconds he realized that Misha might have been...busy. Who wouldn't? Honestly? What kind of guy wouldn't run?  
  
The Jared kind, apparently.  
  
Jared's pretty much come to terms with his flailing sexuality. Still, this is probably weird. But somehow, he finds himself frozen, unable to move. He really should move. Really.  
  
Really.  
  
“Jared,” Misha says, blinking at him. “We are not actually surgically attached. You can go to a party without me.”  
  
“Yes but...why would I want to?” Jared asks, blankly. The idea of being shoved into any kind of social situation without Misha makes Jared want to panic a little. Misha is his... his safety bubble. His water-wings. He doesn't feel comfortable without his Misha-buffer.  
  
“Go,” Misha says, giving Jared an encouraging smile. “It'll be good for you. Drink. Swear. Be merry.”  
  
He doesn't really want to go, but it occurs to him that Misha probably wants some Jared-Free time. Especially if he was doing what Jared thinks he was doing. Misha's right; they aren't surgically attached. He can take one for the team, for Misha. If the man wants a night off, Jared can handle it. Laughing, Jared rolls off the bed, knees thumping the floor before he pushes himself up to a stand. “Isn't that drink, eat and be merry?”  
  
“I've seen you dance,” Misha says gravely. “Don't dance.”  
  
“Screw you,” Jared says, rolling his eyes. Misha isn't wrong though. Jared really can't dance. A dancing-Jared is more or less weapon of mass destruction.  
  
“Fuck me, Jared,” he growls, rolling over onto his belly. He looks up at Jared, face half smooshed against the pillow with his hair sticking up all over and... and...  
  
Jared’s brain kind of short circuits for a second. Because what?  
  
“What?”  
  
“We've talked about this,” Misha says, like he didn't just proposition Jared. “You're a big boy. You get to use grown up swear words now.”  
  
“Oh. Oh!” Jared says, his brain finally managing to get the message. His dick hasn't though yet, more than half hard already. Oh dear God. He can't get boners for Misha. He just can't. “Right. Um. Yeah. Fuck you.” His heart is hammering hard in his chest. He's barely ready to contemplate the situation regarding his sexuality; he really shouldn't be thinking of Misha like that. It was a fluke. It's just his new found sexuality seeing propositions where they aren't. Perfectly understandable.  
  
“What were you thinking?” Misha asks, his mouth bent up in a crooked smile as he lifts his head up from the pillow.  
  
Jared blinks at him, shaking his head. “I have no idea what I was thinking.”  
And it's true. He really, really doesn't.  
  
Misha snorts at him, flopping back down on his bed. “Go to the party Jared,” he says, with a soft smile. “Stretch your ostrich wings.”  
  
He doesn't miss a beat this time, stumbling out the door and muttering just loud enough for Misha to hear. “I'm not a fucking ostrich.” Misha laughs and it's only than that Jared really lets himself leave.  
  
The party is everything he expected it to be; loud, bright, and full of people he doesn't know. Chad shoves a cup at him—flimsy, red, and full of lukewarm beer. He drinks it, more out of reflex than anything else, choking down mouthfuls of the bitter vile fluid. It's hot, he's sweaty, and the music sucks—not that Jared has the best choice in music. Misha is slowly educating him on acceptable musical taste. Still, he might not know good music, but he's pretty sure he knows bad music, if his insistent urge to wince every time the some girl named Nikki declares that she's the bestest. It could, however, just be the English Major in him. He doubts it though. The song is bad.  
  
He's standing in a corner, palming the cup in his sweaty hand. He toys with the idea leaving. Chad wouldn't notice; his roommate had swiftly abandoned him for something anorexic and peroxide-scented. He frowns a little—he's not known for being petty, even inwardly—and wonders if maybe Misha is rubbing of on him. It's the kind of comment Misha might have made, which makes him feel inexplicably proud and lonely at once. This isn't how he spends his Friday nights and he knows without a doubt he'd have more fun with Misha. That's hardly surprising, he thinks; he's pretty much sure that Misha makes everything better.  
  
The man is seemingly full of endless ideas. With Misha almost anything is possible, from Playstation waffle makers to transgender roller derby. Though he might push Jared to the most uncomfortable limits, Jared knows he can trust Misha with anything. Misha is more or less on Jared's mind twenty-four seven. He can't help but think, 'What would Misha----' in every situation he finds himself in. It makes him feel a little crazy and desperate to please, at times. But he doesn't understand how anyone could look at Misha and not want his approval, if only to see the man's smile. Misha is... he's just so zen. Thinking about him cheers Jared up, being near him... well. It makes Jared's palms sweaty, and his heart hammer, and... oh dear God.  
  
It occurs to him then, in that moment, that what he had previously pegged as a confusing attraction budded from his current sexuality crisis is actually a horrifyingly embarrassing crush. One that started long before he even question the possibility of finding men attractive.  
  
He has a crush. A big fat, does-my-hair-look-okay, butterflies in your stomach, horrific crush.  
  
On Misha.  
  
He looks down at the cup in his hand and drinks without any kind of hesitance.  
  
An hour later, Jared is drunk.  
  
He's not quite fall-down drunk. He's quite large, new muscle where he'd previously been lean thanks to Misha's insistent need to wake him up ridiculously early for whatever exercise-of-the-week he found interesting. He's pretty sure it would take more liquor then he'd imbibed to bring him from drunk to hammered. Still, he's quite drunk. The world's gone soft around the edges, colors blurring where they meet.  
  
Chad is long gone, doing Chad things that Jared wants no part of, not even in thought. Still, it leaves him stranded. They'd come to the party with a friend of Chad's that Jared isn’t familiar with. He has no idea how to get home. It occurs to him that he has no idea where he is, only that he's in a frat house, at a frat party, and splendidly drunk. The ride here hadn't been long, maybe ten minutes, but that doesn't help him in the least.  
  
He slips out the backdoor, phone loose in his hand. He knows he's going to have to call Misha; his brain isn't processing any other option at the moment. He plops down on the deck steps, sprawling his legs out before him. He's fumbling with the buttons, scrolling through the M's for Misha's number. He knows it by heart, but he doubts seriously he could manage to punch in all the keys. He's about to hit enter when something hits him hard in the shins, knocking the phone from his sweaty fingers.  
  
“Oomph!” That something says as it lands across his chins and half in his lap. “Oi! What the hell are you doing down there?”  
  
Jared isn't exactly sure why the man sounds so indignant. After all, he fell on Jared. “Um,” Jared says because he's not particularly eloquent at the best of times, and beer doesn't seem to help.  
  
The man peer's up at him with narrowed eyes, his mouth split into a wide smile. “Freshman, eh?” The guy asks, pushing up from his legs, one hand braced surprisingly high on Jared's thigh. It slips up even more, with obvious intent; who the hell is this guy and why is he groping him? He doesn't manage to voice the question; instead he squeak, his cock chubbing up slightly. Dear God, he should never drink. He usually has a much more solid grasp on his libido than this.  
  
The guy's grin turns feral, but still friendly, when he finally looks at Jared's no-doubt blushing face. Jared isn't particularly afraid of him. No, it's worse. It's that pesky A-word he's been toying with.  
  
Attraction.  
  
“Lucky, lucky me. Could have found myself quite hurt if I hadn't had a big strong thing like you to catch me.” With brutal certainly, Jared realizes he's attracted to this completely random, completely handsy man. A man who appears to be flirting with him. He's clearly too drunk—or maybe not drunk enough—for this. “I suppose I should thank you, eh? For saving me from busting up my pretty face. What's your name?”  
  
“Jared,” he manages to choke, and wonders about moving the guys hand. The guy is basically kneeling in front of Jared, hands on his thighs. And then there's the flirting. Jared sucks at flirting. But the guy is looking up at him with a glint in his eye that Jared is not as uncomfortable about as he thinks he should be. “Um.”  
  
“Alright Jared Um,” the guy returns playfully. “I'm Sebastian Roché.I'm also a little bit Scottish and a little bit French,” he explains as if it's relevant. It comes off as arrogant, but...it suits the guy. He kind of figured the guy wasn't from around here given the mix of slurred accents. “I'm also a wee bit drunk and horny. And it's my birthday.”  
  
“Oh-kay?” Jared replies, confused.  
  
Sebastian's eyes light up, crinkled attractively at the corners. “I'm so glad you agree.”  
  
And then, to Jared's surprise, he kisses him.  
  
It's a rough kiss, not at all unlike Mike's crisis-inducing kiss. The only difference is that for some ungodly reason, Jared is actively participating. It's got to be the gay-crisis-libido-kicker, he thinks, as he grabs Sebastian’s face between his palms and boldly licks his way into the stranger’s mouth. Apparently, with enough beer, Jared's ostrich wings have no issues spreading themselves for all of town. Or at least this guy Sebastian.  
  
There is, of course, something like a very faint warning bell in the back of his mind whispering out reasons why this is a poor decision. The voice sounds a little bit like his mother, but he can barely hear it over the rush of blood heading south for his cock. Sebastian is just as bold as Alexis and Sandy, crawling right into his lap and pushing him down on the deck, never pulling away from his attack on Jared’s mouth. Only this time, the forwardness isn't so much a turn off as blindingly hot. This is a bad idea of course, but it feels damn good. Jared realizes that it's probably sexist to find forwardness in girls unappealing, but the idea of a guy pinning him to the ground and grinding on him hot enough to make his jeans far too tight for comfort.  
  
Sebastian seems to sense his discomfort and rectifies it by undoing Jared's jeans and freeing his stiff cock. It's startling, the feeling of a calloused hand as big as his own wrapping around his dick, and not at all unappealing. A frisson of anxiety still spikes through him; he's never done this with a guy. Hell, he's barely done this with a girl.  
  
“Oh lovely,” Sebastian breathes without an ounce of cockiness, looking down at Jared's cock between their bodies. Jared's mostly ashamed to admit the rush of vain pride that shoots through him at the compliment. Sebastian asks no questions as he frees his own cock and presses into Jared, trapping both dicks between their sweaty bodies. There's a rock on the deck biting into the small of his back, but Jared is to far gone to care.  
  
Between the spikes of pleasure and confusion, Jared wonders if this constitutes as sex. He has no idea, and he's not particularly in the right mind to care. He just holds on and feels it, curling up like a cat into the touches. Apparently his neck is incredibly sensitive, something Jared hadn’t known until Sebastian leaned forward to trail a line of bites and kisses along the skin. Huh. So Jared likes being bitten; it's surprising to say the least. Misha would be proud.  
  
Misha.  
  
Misha would be a biter, he thinks, feeling his balls draw up tight between his legs. Sebastian is thrusting harder against him, and Jared can't help but push right back with him. He wants to come, and badly. He wants to come so bad it aches. There isn't a doubt in his mind that he likes guys because this? This is so much better than Alexis's soft, squishy heat, or Sandy's huge bouncing breasts. Sebastian is firm and hard and solid in a way that Jared had no idea he liked. There was nothing soft about the stomach trapping his cock, or the hands in his hair, or the thighs straddling him.  
  
He's not proud to admit it, but considering how drunk he is, his thoughts drift to Misha. Misha's hard, flat stomach, his calloused hands, his sharp jaw, and dark stubble---  
  
“Fuck,” Sebastian hisses, nipping his jaw hard and spilling between them.  
  
With one more hard thrust, Jared comes too. “Misha.”  
  
A chuckle echoes from above him. “Sebastian, actually.”  
  
Heat rushes to his face, come cooling in his belly button. “Oh God.”  
  
“Nope. Still Sebastian,” the guy replies with a friendly smile. “Quite alright mate,” he says, quite congenially. “This is all in good fun. No harm done.”  
  
“Fun,” Jared echoes stupidly, looking up with blurry eyes at the grinning face above him.  
  
“Fun,” Sebastian repeats, rolling of Jared. “You had fun, yes?”  
  
Jared felt himself grinning a little drunkenly, head thunking back onto the deck. Good God, but he was tired now; tired, sweaty and drunkenly sated.  
  
“This your phone?”  
  
“Mmm,” Jared hums, too tired to even slur the word.  
  
“Shall I call a ride home for you?”  
  
“Mmm.”  
  
Another chuckle, and Jared can hear the sounds of his phone ringing, loud enough that he vaguely assumes it's on speaker phone.  
  
“Hello,” Sebastian chimes cheerfully. “And who am I calling at this bright and shining hour of two-am.”  
  
“....Sebastian?” A voice asks, tinny and rough with sleep.  
  
“No that would be me actually,” Sebastian replies, with a slight happy sounding slur.  
  
“This is Mike,” the voice from the phone explains. “Mike Rosenbaum. Why the hell are you calling me at 2 in the morning, Roche?” There was a pause. “From Jared's phone.”  
  
“Michael! Mike! Mikey! Jared is my new friend,” Sebastian announces this as if Mike should know it already, slapping Jared on the chest. “He's quite drunk though and in need of a ride home. I found your number on his speed dial. I think he was attempting to call you before I...befriended him. He really is a friendly little bugger.”  
  
“Roché,” Mike's voice growls.  
  
“We're at the Kappa Sigma house,” Sebastian cuts him off. “I trust you know where it is? We're sequestered in back.”  
  
“....I'll be there in fifteen.”  
  
“Lovely!” Sebastian declares. “Would you happen to have any wet-wipes?”  
  
*  
  
Time passes with no real relevance, and Jared is barely awake when he hears the familiar voice of Mike.  
  
“You could have at least zipped him up,” Mike huffs, with a long sigh usually reserved for Misha. Jared can't help it; it makes him want to smile knowing he'd earned the same kind of suffering affection.  
  
“I put his cock back in his pants,” Sebastian offers, and Jared blushes, embarrassed even though the drunken haze. This is Mike after all, and he's not against blackmailing Jared later, he's sure of it. “I think that should count for something.”  
  
A pause, and Jared fights to open his heavy eyelids, with no avail. “Sebastian,” Mike says the name slowly. “How drunk is he?”  
  
“Oi!” Sebastian barks with an indigence that Jared still isn't in the mind to fully comprehend. “He didn't say no mate, in fact he played quite an active part. Very vocal this one. Likes to be bitten. Surely you know me better than to believe I'd force any one. As if I'd need to.”  
  
“True,” Mike agrees after a moment, barking out a laugh. “He is pretty big. Collins has him buffing up, apparently. No one else wants to get up and run with the little freak. Jared can probably take care of himself. Sorry, I just had to ask. He's a friend, you know.”  
  
Previous to this, Jared hadn't, in fact, known that he qualified as one of Michael’s friends. Sure they spent time together, hanging out and joking. Jared had just always assumed that was because they both took up Misha's time, and their schedules were bound to overlap on occasion. Tonight is apparently just bursting with revelations and epiphanies.  
  
“Hey!” Sebastian cries out indignantly, looking entirely unabashed in his undone trousers and his come-stained too-small v-neck t-shirt. “I was hardly referring to his plentiful muscle and size, vast though it may be!” Jared blushes again, because... well. He's not sure. He's drunk and terribly confused. “Who wouldn't want this? I'm a choice bit of meat, I'll have you know. And I have an accent! Obviously I was speaking of my irresistible charm!” Jared has to agree; the accent is rather irresistible. But that's a thought for another time. Mostly now, he just wants to sleep.  
  
“Were you?” Mike laughs, the smile audible in his voice. Jared twitches when two cool palms hook up under his arms and heave him to a wobbly stand. “Come on, Jay. Up and at em'. Let's get you back to the dorm; you’d better believe you owe me. Roché, lend a guy a hand! You're not that drunk are you?”  
  
“I might be,” Sebastian replies mildly, but still hooks a very handsy arm around Jared's waist. He'd be more embarrassed if he wasn't so drunk himself. He certainly hadn't felt this drunk until he'd been laying down. Maybe there was something about being horizontal that made you drunker-er. Er. Whatever, he'd have to ask Misha.  
  
  
Jared squints at Mike, leaning his weight into him unintentionally. “You're not my R.A.,” Jared slurs, dropping his head onto Mike's shoulder. “S'calling Mish.”  
  
Mike made an undistinguished noise. “I think it's probably better you called me instead, buddy.”  
  
“Collins,” Sebastian says, from his side, earning Jared's vague, sleepy interest. “Misha Collins? Your sticky-fingered friend? How is your darling magpie, Michael? Close as ever, yes?”  
  
Mike goes tense beside him so suddenly it makes Jared stumble. “Don't Roché. Don't go there. You know---”  
  
“I do indeed,” Sebastian says, and his voice is softer. “I meant no disrespect. Though, it does make sense.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“He called me Misha,” Sebastian explains and a very small part of Jared considers that of all times, this would be the most appropriate to be mortified, but he's reached his quota for embarrassment, it seems, because the shame never comes.  
  
“Really?” Mike asks, and Jared is absently wary of the interest in his voice.  
  
“Yes,” Sebastian confirms. “Right when he came. Seem's I'll forever be thrown over the boat for Collins.”  
  
Mike makes a choking noise, and nearly drops Jared, much to his disgruntlement. After that, there's nothing.  
  
*  
  
The first thing that registers when he wakes is that sunlight is clearly a torture device implemented daily by the hand of God as punishment for underage drinking. The second is that he feels like ass. Wet ass, soaked in horseradish, liquified and forced via Satan's Personal Enema, up the crusty, cheese filled ass of a long-dead skunk.  
  
Apparently, hangovers bring out the creative side in him. He'll have to remember that for later when he isn't dying from the inside out.  
  
“Awake at last,” Mike says from above him and Jared opens his eyes enough to figure out that he is on the floor next to Mike's bed. Which makes no sense whatsoever.  
  
Blinking, he ignores the bubbling cauldron of hate and acid roiling in his stomach. “M'confused,” he manages to grunt, choking on the taste of his own mouth. Good god, but it taste like he ate the mutant babies of an ingrown toe-nail and the brown stuff often found in a urinal.  
  
“Is that what they're calling hangovers these days?” Mike asks, laughing at him with no shame. Still, Jared can't stay mad at him as Mike hands him a bottle of water and hand full of aspirin. “Quite the night, huh?”  
  
Jared has no idea how to respond to that. Dropping the aspirin into his mouth, he awkwardly drinks the water in tiny sips, his body refusing to sit upright. Fumbling, he caps it and sets it beside him. He scratches at his stomach, hand still damp with condensation, wincing immediately when his nails scrape at something crusty clinging to his stomach. The sensation is not unfamiliar and he jack-knifes upright, turning a horrified look to Mike. There is come on his stomach.  
  
What the ever-loving fuck did he do?  
  
“Oh shit,” he wheezes out, choking on his anxiety alone. “Mike... did we... I mean... oh God. Did we---”  
  
Laughing loudly, Mike shakes his head. “No,” he says, taking pity on Jared. “We didn't, but uh... that's not your come alone. Congratulations on your first gay college-hook up!” He waves his hand flippantly, and grins.  
  
It slams back like a punch in the neck, flashes of images. Tanned sweaty skin, a hard stomach and a cocky accent come to mind first and he groans. “Fucking accent,” he mumbles, earning a laugh out of Mike. “But I guess that answers that question.”  
  
“What question?”  
  
“Let's just say the results to my Big Gay Crisis came in and I passed with flying colors,” He runs a hand through his hair and then grimaces with such force he's sure he pulled a muscle. “Christ.”  
  
“Hey,” Mike says suddenly, propping himself up on his forearms on the bed. “You think you're gay?” The question is phrased gently, and without any of the mocking Jared half expected, and it makes Jared feel inexplicably bad. It's true that he doesn't know Mike well; he really didn't have the right to expect anything.  
  
Shrugging, Jared toys with the edge of the blanket Mike had generously covered him with. “If I'm limited to my experience, than I'd say yeah.”  
  
Frowning, Mike looks down at him with an inscrutable look. “I thought you said you'd had sex. Straight sex.”  
  
“I didn't like it,” Jared admits in a blurt. He's horrified that it came so easily out of his mouth, but well... Mike is surprisingly easy to talk to. He's not as afraid of Mike judging him—not like with Misha—and so far, Mike hasn't said anything, really. “I um... I don't know. I could barely get hard. And I mean, Alexis was... she's insanely attractive. I was just... I didn't like it. I kept thinking that it felt wrong. I just wanted it over with,” he says with a pained sigh. “I've never told anyone that.”  
  
“What about all those girls this semester?” Mike asks curiously, and without any judgmental tone in his voice. He's looking at Jared properly now, his square jaw cupped in his hand.  
  
“I told Sandy McCoy that I thought I might be gay,” Jared says, because if he's going to confess his sins, he might as well confess them all. “She took her top off and kissed me, just like that.”  
  
That makes Mike smile, a lecherous little grin. It's very Mike, so Jared can't help the answering smile. “And?”  
  
“I don't know,” Jared huffs. “It was okay. I mean, I liked it, I guess. But again, I really couldn't wait for her to just... just be done. And then she went and told everyone I'd never been kissed!”  
  
“Ah,” Mike nods like it all makes sense. “I had wondered.”  
  
“Yeah, so all these girls are just like, coming out of the woodwork to rectify this. And I mean, after a while, it became obvious that I had been kissed, quite thoroughly, and in great quantity. But by then, it was like a game. Or a contest. I don't know. At first I liked it, but I don't know if it was the girls I liked, or... or...”  
  
“The attention?” Mike asks, with open honesty. “That's natural. You're pretty much a wallflower, Jay.”  
  
“Right?” Jared agrees, with a laugh. “But towards the end of that I was back at square one, just wanting it to be fucking over with.”  
  
“Alright,” Mike nods his head, grabbing his own bottle of water off his night stand. “That all makes sense, I guess. What made you question your sexuality in the first place?”  
  
“You,” Jared snorts, and Mike chokes on his water, spraying a mouthful across his blanket. “Um. Not really you, so much. When you kissed me at that party? It um... it made me hard.”  
  
Mike's eyes are huge in his head, and Jared is acutely aware of his own embarrassment, the hot flush of shame rushing halfway down his chest. He's always been a blusher, and he's never hated it more. “Um. Right. Well, you know. You didn't know it was me. You could have just got off on the kiss itself.” He grins, wide and toothy. “I am an excellent kisser.”  
  
“I didn't get hard till I realized it was you.”  
  
“Huh,” Mike replies, with a blank look that makes Jared nervous. “Nothing like an ego boost to start the morning.”  
  
“Mike! I'm being serious,” Jared groans. “Christ. I just... I can't...”  
  
“Hey,” Mike cuts him off, pushing his shoulder in a friendly gesture. “Look, I'm not telling you to question yourself okay? ‘Cause it sounds like me that you've always kind of known, deep down in that noggin' of yours. I'm sure there's more you’re not telling me, anyway. If you honestly think that you're batting for the home team, doubting it will only fuck your shit up.”  
  
“I honestly believe it,” Jared replies. “I've been thinking on it for a bit you know. And the more I think about it....”  
  
“The better it sounds?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jared sighs, feeling so much lighter for having talked about it. “I don't know. I guess the fact that sex with a guy seems a hell of a lot less horrifying then sex with a girl is a big indicator.”  
  
At that, Mike laughs till his face is red with it. It makes the curl-into-a-ball-and-die feeling return to Jared with full force.  
  
“No, no!” Mike says, seeing Jared's face. “I'm not laughing at you, I swear! I'm just... dude. Most gay guys, when they first figure it out, are horrified at the idea of sleeping with another guy. If you've managed to jump that ship already I'd have to agree and say you're voting for Dick from now on.”  
  
Sighing, relieved, Jared manages a smile. “Thanks Mike.”  
  
“No problem,” Mike replies easily, rolling up off the bed. “If you don't mind me asking, why didn't you talk to Misha about this?”  
  
“I....” Jared hesitates. Should he tell Mike about his epic crush on Misha? No, he thinks. It's too new to him to share, and in the end Mike is more Misha's friend than Jared’s. “I don't want him to judge me.” It's not a lie, not really.  
  
“Misha would never judge you. I won't tell him, but you should,” Mike says, shaking his bald head as he ruffles through his closet. “You feeling better? I gotta get to class in an hour.”  
  
“What? Oh! No, no. I feel much better. I don't want to keep you. I'm sorry!” He says abruptly, groaning. “I'm sorry you had to come get my ass last night. I was like... really drunk. I didn't think I was that drunk till I laid down. I don't remember calling you.”  
  
"You didn't," Mike snorts. “Pushed down, is probably more like it. Don't worry about it,” he assures Jared. “Just as long as everything that happened was... um. Consensual.”  
  
“What?” Jared says stupidly, and then his mouth falls open. “Oh my God. Yes! Yes! I didn't say no. I wasn't that drunk, I swear. I knew what was going on, and I uh... I went with it.” He stops, suddenly mortified. “You knew that guy?”  
  
“Sebastian?” Mike asks, pulling on a clean shirt. “Yeah. He's my ex-boyfriend.” Catching Jared's doubly horrified look, he laughs. “Don't worry about it kid. We broke up a while ago. We're still good friends though. He's a pretty good guy. He won't tell the world or anything. No worries.”  
  
“Oh good,” Jared sighs. “I'm just not... ready for that, I guess.”  
  
“Everyone deserves to come out when they're damn ready,” Mike agrees.  
  
“Why did you and Sebastian break up?” Jared asks and then winces. “Sorry, that's not my business. I'll just... I'll get going,” he pats his pockets, and groans. “Damn.”  
  
“No keys?” Mike asks, because it's probably obvious.  
  
“Yeah I have no idea where I lost them,” Jared sighs. He's going to have to go to the office and apply for a new copy. Again. It's the third time this year. He doesn't remember being this bad about keys.  
  
“Here,” he tosses Jared a key from his desk. “It's to Misha's. You had a copy anyway and maybe you left yours there; apparently you leave everything else there, don't you?” He laughs ruefully. “You should get cleaned up. One of the perks of an R.A. Suite—you get your own bathroom.” Scratching his jaw, Mike hesitates awkwardly. “Sebastian and I broke up because he couldn't... handle Misha.”  
  
“Handle?” Jared asks, feeling himself grow indignant on Misha's behalf.  
  
Giving Jared a small smile, Mike shrugs. “Not everyone can handle Misha's... personality. There are some things people just can't get over.”  
  
“There's nothing wrong with Misha,” Jared says forcibly, feeling dirty that he'd done... what he'd done... with someone who thought badly about Misha.  
  
“There isn't,” Mike agreed. “And Sebastian knows that now. But he didn't when we broke up and it wasn't my place to explain shit. Like it isn't now. Sebastian isn't a bad guy, Jay. Don't judge him cause' he doesn't know Misha like you or I do.”  
  
Swallowing, Jared nods. “You're right,” he says, licking his lips. “I should get going. But thanks Mike. For everything.”  
  
“No problem kid,” Mike says. “Anyway, go on and get cleaned up. If you're not ready to tell Misha, you probably don't want him to find you covered in come and looking like you just got fucked. He won't be out of class for another hour and a half, so you've got time.”  
  
Pausing at the door, Jared's brow wrinkles. “You know he has class on Saturday? He told me every one thought it was community service.”  
  
“Every one doesn't know Misha like you and I do,” Mike says with another small smile.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Chapter One For Blanket Warnings And Disclaimer.

**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/) **

Misha stumbles into his room exhausted, even for the early hour of the day. He hadn't realized when he wormed his way into the class that Social Theory Field Research would be so... well. Social. But it is, and Misha can only handle so much interaction with the collective public before he ends up arrested yet again.

Kicking his shoes off and dropping his bag on the floor, he dives onto the bed with a groan only to land on something decidedly more firm then his shitty dorm-mattress.

Jared.

“Oomph!” Jared groans as all the air is knocked out of his chest. Misha had thought that the pile of clothes usually inhabiting his bed beneath the blankets looked a little longer and less lumpy than usual, but he'd been far too tired to bother to care.

He's laying on Jared.

Laying on Jared.

On Jared.

Jared.

“What are you doing here?”

Jared blinks up at him sleepily. “Lost my keys,” he says and Misha bites back a wince. Jared didn't lose his keys. Misha stole them. Again. For like, the third time. He's really got to get a hold of himself. “Sorry,” he says suddenly, when Misha stays silent. “I'll just... I can go?”

“Of course not,” Misha rolls his eyes. Like he'd ever kick Jared out. “Just surprised me is all.”

He makes to push himself up off Jared, but Jared rolls, dropping Misha onto the mattress beside him without a word. They are very close. Too close, really. Misha is indescribably glad he had no clean boxers this morning and was forced to wear the ridiculous orange, bikini-cut banana hammock Mike bought him for his last birthday. They're too small and conveniently restricting.

Jared smiles at him, and snuffles into Misha's pillow. His hair is damp and he smells like Misha's blueberry-bubblegum-tear-free-two-in-one shampoo and conditioner combo, which can only mean that Jared used his shower. Jared was naked in his shower and is now covered in Misha's own personal scent.

“M'sleepin,” Jared murmurs, not bothered at all that he is in Misha's bed, with Misha. “Late night.”

“Oh!” Misha says, blinking. “How was the party.”

There is a pause, and Jared makes a face that Misha can only describe as too-fucking-adorable. “Weird,” Jared says a last. “Would have been better if you were there.” For some unknown reason, this brings Misha's favorite blush to Jared's face, staining his cheeks a violent pink. “S'fun though. Learned some things. I'm glad you convinced me to go. Still would have preferred I was here with you.”

Misha laughs, an awkward bubble of a giggle if he's to be honest. “Eh. Well, you're going home for Christmas, right? You better get used to Misha-less plans.”

Opening his eyes, Jared outright frowns. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving? Are you going home?”

“My parents are in Africa,” Misha blinks at the confession. “They do a lot of charity stuff.” He's never told anyone that. He doesn't talk about his parents as a rule. Not that he doesn't like his parents; he just doesn't talk about them. It's not a thing. Really.

“You should come home with me then,” Jared nods, like Misha has already agreed to this ridiculous suggestion. “You can meet my parents. Let's take a nap. My flight’s on Monday, we can pack tomorrow.”

“Um,” Misha says, without his usual eloquence. He's in bed with Jared who just asked him to come home for Christmas. It's like a dream come true except that it totally isn't. Because Jared is straight and not naked and—still. “Okay.”

*   
Misha is fucking anxious. Really, what had he been thinking when he agreed to come with Jared to Texas for Thanksgiving. The days between Friday and Monday had come and gone, and here he was now, climbing off a plane and taking his first step on Texas soil. Cement. Whatever.

It's strangely warm, compared to the bitter, snowy winds they'd left behind them. According to his phone it was a healthy 61 degrees, bright and sunny, with nothing but a cool breeze to bite at their heels. They've collected their luggage, Jared's bright red duffel bag and Misha's abused-but-trusty orange suit case.

“Oh! Hey, there's my parents!” Jared announces, using his gift of freakish high to his advantage, peering over the crowed.

Jared's parents are pretty much what Misha expects. Probably because he's seen them before, when Jared was registering. But that's not the point. They're all bright-eyed and smiling, rushing forward to meet their son. There's even an extra Misha hasn't met, who he assumes is Jared's little sister Megan. She's fifteen, from what Jared has told him, and the same height (if not taller) then Misha.

Jared's family is full of giants.

“Mom!” Jared says, boisterous in his excitement, scooping the lady in question up into a massive hug. His sister is treated with the same affection, and to Misha's surprise, his father is not left out. “Oh, hey. This is Misha Collins,” he adds, tugging Misha forward. It's awkward, but maybe only on Misha's half. The Padalecki's are all sporting a grin that to Misha previously belonged to Jared alone, bit and dimpled and entirely inviting. “Misha, this is Sharon, Gerry, and Megan.”

“Um,” Misha says, struggling with the urge to back away. “It's nice to meet you. Thanks for having me.”

Sharon nods enthusiastically, grabbing Misha's hands into her own and shaking them so hard he feels his teeth clatter. “Of course, of course! We're happy to have you, darlin'. We're just glad our baby is making friends.”

“Mom,” Jared hisses in absolute horror, and Misha feels a hell of a lot better for it.

“Don't blame mom because you're a loser,” the girl-Padalecki offers, rolling her hazel eyes. “Can we go? Mom made pie.”

“Mind your manners,” Gerry gruffs, giving Misha a once over with a stern eye. Whatever he sees must meet some level of approval because he grunts and nods, and jingles his keys. “Alright, let's get this ship to port, kids.”

Jared gives him an encouraging nod as they make their way to the car.

*

The Padalecki home is unlike anything he's ever seen. It's a farm. Which, he knew, but hadn't quite—there's fucking cows, okay? Cows. Like real black-and-white cows with udders full of milk. Misha likes milk. On a good day, he'd say he even loves it. But he does not want to see where his milk comes from. He's eyeing one of the udders, wincing every time it sways. His milk was in there. Well, maybe not there, but in another udder. And then there are the pigs. They're looking at him. Misha likes bacon (who the fuck doesn't?) but he doesn't like his bacon looking at him. “I think I was born to be a vegetarian,” he announces, remembering how the beady eyed bacon had snorted at him, blobs of mud bubbling at his nose, the piggly son-of-a-bitch bacon ruiner. “Seriously. I mean, I already do yoga and I love organic cotton pants. So really, it's not so much of a jump that I become vegetarian. In fact, I expect it's expected.”

Jared is looking at him with a wide, open-mouth smile. “Is it really freaking you out?” He asks, from opposite side of the counter. They're in the kitchen, sunlight pouring in through the big bay window. Everything is made of trees. Well, they're wood. Most wood things are made of trees, but everything here still kind of looks like a tree. The counter is solid oak, a grainy golden color with a whirl of dark brown knots and lines smoothed beneath the glossy shine. Even the floor is wood. God fucking forbid someone start a house fire.

With that thought in mind, Misha thinks he should probably leave the kitchen like... right about now.

“It's really freaking me out,” he admits. There's no shame in it, he tells himself. Then Jared plucks another feather out of the dead chicken laying on the counter and he fights back the vomit rising in his throat.

“City boy,” Jared says fondly, and Misha grunts at him indignantly. “If it really bothers you, I'll tell my mom to make some meatless stuff.”

Frowning, Misha sighs. “I don't... no. Don't do that. I don't want to be a burden, you know? It was really nice of them to let me come, and on such short notice.” He gives Jared a very pointed look. About ten minutes into the car ride from the airport to the house, Misha had been informed by a smug looking Megan that his parents hadn't, in fact, known that Misha was coming until Jared texted them from the luggage coral. In a fit of anxiety, he'd then proceeded to steal her cell-phone without her noticing. It had taken more skill then he'd like to admit he has, dropping it in her mother's purse. He'd let them sort that out later.

Misha is not a sane person.

They'd been at the farm for three days now. Jared's mother was a picture of all things maternal and warm and Misha adored her. She baked a lot and ruffled Misha's hair in the most horrifying manner, one of which Jared was not immune. She was honestly happy that Misha was Jared's friend. It was a novel experience, to say the least.

“Well,” Jared plucks another handful of feathers from the dead carcass, like it's nothing. That this is the same stammering frightened man-child Misha met three months ago baffles Misha. Misha cannot pluck a chicken. He cannot pluck an eyebrow, let alone a chicken. But here Jared is, tearing out pieces of a dead thing like it's no big deal. “There's usually other stuff around to eat. Are eggs okay?”

They're okay because Misha is going to make them be okay. He doesn't want Jared worrying about him. “Eggs are fine. Eggs are great. I love eggs.” Even if they are the unborn children of the very same decapitated chicken that Jared is currently de-feathering. It's fine. It's totally kosher. He can eat unborn babies. Really. He can.   
He pockets a cork screw when Jared isn't looking, and pops an Ativan under his tongue. This is becoming a problem.

Laughing, Jared transfers the now naked, dead, headless chicken to the sink, rinsing it as he talks. “Don't worry Misha, I won't let you starve. Actually, if you want, we can go out for dinner tonight. We can grab a movie, maybe some pizza. I can show you around?”

It sounds suspiciously like a date but Misha knows better than to let that hope float, so he ruthlessly drowns it in a pool of his own manly tears and forces himself to smile and nod. “Sure. Sounds great.”

*

Caldwell is a very small town just outside of San Antonio. They go to a mom-and-pop pizza parlor where Jared is pulled into three separate hugs by walker-laden octogenarians. One of which was had no visible teeth and managed to crush Misha's foot in the process of groping Jared. For all that Jared is shy and reserved, he is apparently very well-liked by the elderly. Not that it surprises Misha of course. What isn't to love about Jared?

Jared is perfect.

This is where a dreamy sigh would be inserted, were Misha a total girl.

“What are you sighing about? Jared asks, giving him a confused smile and Misha trips in a pot hole.

Jared catches him before he face plants. “You're not really in your game here, huh?”

“What?” Misha asks, looking at where Jared's hand is still curled around his bicep. They’re on their way to what Jared has already assured him is a very tiny and pathetic cinema. One that compares to an Imax like a puppet show compares to a flat screen. It isn't promising, but Misha's not really here to watch movies.

“Here,” Jared repeated, releasing him. “You're usually a lot more... I don't know. Smooth. You're acting funny.”

“And you're acting... not,” Misha offers as a rebuttal, without really answering. “Seriously, you had me convinced you were some shut-in, raging geek who spent his time playing WoW in his mother’s basement while eating hot pockets. But everyone seems to know you around here.”

“Small town,” Jared replies easily, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I wasn't really popular, but I wasn't exactly unpopular. I was just kind of...”

“In the middle,” Misha offers, with a little smile. He knows Jared, probably better than anyone.

“No,” Jared says with shrug. “I was more on the outside, than anything else. But I liked it there. It wasn't so bad. I did have friends, you know? And girlfriends. And normal highschool problems. Like, up until my sophomore year in high school, I was extremely short. Hey! Don't laugh. I was.”

“You were never short,” Misha argues, with a snort. “I call bullshit.”

“I have pictorial evidence,” Jared assures him. “Seriously, I was short. But I shot up in the last two years or so. Probably why I'm a fucking bean pole.”

A smile twitches at his lip as Jared swears, easily as breathing. “Not so much a bean pole now,” Misha tells him, because it's true. Jared has filled out quite nicely. He steals a conversation-appropriate shoulder grope and grins.

Blushing, Jared shrugs. “Yes, well... Anyway, if you think I'm tall, you should see my brother. He's even taller.”

Taller? That's just unfair.

The watch Son In Law and Misha kind of wants to gag as he watches Pauly Shore ride a pig because... well. You should never put your junk near your bacon. It really should just be a rule of life. Jared scored free popcorn from the girl behind the counter, a junior in the high school Jared went to, who looks at him and blushes and smiles and stutters. Jared doesn't notice any of it because he's Jared and pretty much oblivious to every one's adoring, lusty stares.

Every. One.

“---I still say that Bio Dome was Pauly Shore's best movie,” Jared is arguing, gesturing wildly with his hands. God, but if Misha resents everyone's adoring, lusty stares, he totally understands them too. He can't deny the ridiculous grin on his face as he looks up at Jared, still prattling on. “Even if it did have the blond Baldwin one in it.”

“What?” Misha snaps back to the present. “That wasn't a Baldwin.”

“Yes it was. Stephen Baldwin,” Jared stops walking, and looks down at him. “It was totally a Baldwin.”

Misha frowns and blinks. “Wait, wasn't he in---”

“Jared?”

Jared's attention is stolen from Misha instantly. “Alexis?” Jared says back, eyes widening as his brow's crawl so far up his giant forehead they get lost in his hair. Following his line of sight, Misha looks at the girl before him. He knows who Alexis is, of course. This is the girl Jared lost his V-Card to. This is Jared's one sexual experience, save for Sandy, who according to Jared, never went anywhere no matter what it looked like. This is Alexis, with bright blue eyes, white teeth, and dark hair.

Misha hates her on sight.

“Jared,” she says a little softer, her hand dropping to her rounded belly. “It's...it's really good to see you.”

Jared blinks at her, color draining from his face as he stares at her pregnant belly. “How... um. How far? Oh fucking God.”

“...Four months,” she says with a tight smile and Jared goes down like a ton of bricks, out cold for all the world to see.

Misha fucking hates her.

  
**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/) **

 

  
When Alexis had first suggested they have sex, Jared has turned her down. It wasn't that he didn't want to have sex; of course he did. He was an ordinary teenage male, with an ordinary teenage libido, and he thought about sex often and in great detail. But for all that he wanted it, he honestly didn't think it would be right. Alexis and he had only been dating a month. He knew that other people his age (he refused to call himself a kid) were having sex. Jared hadn't even fooled around. He'd dated yes, and kissed and... rubbed, he supposed, would be the word. But it had never come to this.

Alexis wanted to have sex.

Jared said no.

He kept saying no, and Alexis kept pushing. And then somehow they ended up in the backseat of his mom's car, pants around his ankles, and skirt shoved up around her hips, her body grinding down on his. They hadn't even taken her panties off, and Jared was ready to call it quits. It began with rubbing, a level of dry-humping Jared could probably handle. It felt good, he guessed, pressed up against the slick heat of her body, through that thin layer of Haynes cotton. And then, at the first site of his arousal, she'd slipped right down his body, knee's straddling his legs on the narrow bench seat. He had no idea how it had gotten this far. Okay, okay, that was a huge lie. The second Alexis had gotten her mouth around his dick he'd thrown all reason out the window. And then, when he'd finally let himself get into it, she'd pounced on his moment of weakness and all but mounted him like a freaking horse.

She'd had a condom, which struck him as extremely presumptuous especially for all that he'd been telling her no. Not that he was saying no now. But really, he would have been happier with the blow job. The second her mouth had left his member, and he'd realized what she was about, he'd practically lost all erection he had.

And the thing was... he hadn't liked it. He'd only ever told Mike that, and he hadn't even spilled the whole secret. He'd wanted it over with, he'd told Mike, but he hadn't told him how he ended it. He'd faked it. Faked an orgasm in desperation to just be done. But the damage was done apparently, and really, Jared knew the statistics. There was just as many viable...sperm, in precome as there was in ejaculate, and well, Alexis had been rubbing herself all up and down his dick like a cat in heat, and panties weren't an FDA approved method of protection. He'd knocked her up and he hadn't even gotten to come.

It all kind of hit him, then.

This can't be happening. This isn't happening. It's not possible. It's not real. This can't be happening. Oh shit. How is this happening!?

“Jared,” Misha's voice is soft beside him. Somehow, Misha managed to get them back to the house. He has no idea what Misha said to Alexis, or how Misha got Jared into the car, into the house, and into the room. He's in shock, or something. He has no idea. He can't move. Or breathe. Or talk. He can barely think. Other than...

This can't be fucking happening.

“Jared,” Misha says, smacking him hard across the face. He sucks in a sharp breath and blinks so many times the world wavers a little.

“Misha,” he breathes, hands flying out to grab his friend’s shoulders, pulling him close. Jared's a hugger, he always has been. “This... this can't... oh my God.”

“Hey, hey,” Misha hushes him. “It's going to be okay. We're going to figure it out.”

“I got her... her....” he can't say it out loud. He can't. If he does, it might be real and he can't handle that, he really can't. “Oh god. What's going to happen? I can't have a baby. I'm not ready for a baby. I can barely manage to take care of myself! I can't take care of... of... anything! I'm going to have to drop out of college and come back here and get a job. I don't want to drop out of college, Misha. I can't. I... they can't make me. I can't do this. This can't be happening.”

“Jared!” Misha says roughly. “It's okay. Listen to me. It's alright, right now? Right now it's okay. You don't know her plans. What if she wants to give the baby up for adoption?”

That pulls Jared up short. He sucks in another breath and drops his head in his hands. “It's... it's not done. Not in towns like this. And even if it was, I don't think I could do that, you know? That... baby is mine, and I...well. I made it. I made it and I'm going to take care of it.”

“Alright,” Misha says, but it looks like it pains him and Jared doesn't really understand. He's glad Misha's here though. He needs that calm, that zen that Misha just seems to breath. “Look. She's four months along? People are pregnant for forty weeks. That's ten months. So she's got six more months. That's right around summer break. You can come back for the... birth. And maybe you can sign up for classes here. You don't have to quit college because of this.”

“I don't want to move back here,” Jared says in a rush of breath. Coming back here means leaving Misha and he can't do that. He can't. He just can't. Misha means too much to him. More than Alexis. More than... god, does it make him a bad person? More than the baby, even, maybe. But the baby isn't real to him yet, so that could change. And if it does, he doubts highly that Misha will mean any less to him. He can't. He… he loves Misha.

This is a bad time for that kind of revelation.

“Maybe she'll come with you,” Misha suggests. “She doesn't seem like the kind of girl who wants to be stuck here. College might take you longer, but...well. Don't just give up. Make it work.”

“I don't want her to come with me,” Jared says, leaning into Misha now, till he can lay his head on Misha's shoulder. “I don't want her, Misha. At all. God...what if they make me marry her? I can't marry her. Please, please, don't let them make me marry her.”

“They won't,” Misha breaths, but Jared knows better. Misha doesn't know small towns like Jared does. Misha has no idea.

 

 

 

  


**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/) **

Misha has no idea.

The following day is awkward to say the least. Alexis comes over, parents in tow, waddling her pregnant non-date-ruining ass through the door. Misha doesn't care if she's young and pretty and stupid and pregnant, Misha hates her for ruining Jared's life and Misha's dreams.

They sit around on the big sectional couch and Misha would feel like he didn't belong there if Jared hadn't shoved him into the seat beside him, nails biting into his knee cap where he'd pinned Misha in place. He can feel the bruises forming already, but far be it for him to tell Jared no right now.

“Mr. and Mrs. Padalecki,” Alexis's parents begin, sounding so grave that you'd half assume they were announcing that they had cancer or had sacrificed their first born for the Republican party. “You understand what has to happen, yes?”

“Of course,” Gerry says, but Sharon isn't quite ready to agree. Misha's with Sharon on this one, even if he doesn't understand what's going on.

“I don't... I don't think that it's the best possible plan for the children,” she says gently. “They're not---”

“You're son slept with my daughter and then dumped her!” Alexis's father – he should learn their names – barks out suddenly.

“You're daughter slept with my son just the same,” Gerry argues. His voice is firm and solid and he doesn't need to yell to make his point. “That was a mutual decision between the pair of them as was, from what I've been made to understand, the break up. We're not here to point fingers, Mr. Bledel. The fault lies in both our children and I won't have you vilifying my son for it.” He takes a deep breath. “Regardless, I agree that as they made the decision to sleep together, and not take precautions---”

“But we did,” Jared cuts in. “Alexis swore she was on the pill, and we used----”

“You're on the pill?” Mrs. Bledel, Misha assumes her name is, asks her daughter in obvious surprise. “How long? Whatever for? Where did you got to get it?”

Alexis blushes, looking shamed face. “I...I um. I wasn't. I lied. I didn't think it mattered, I didn't even mean to lie, but he asked me and I was... distracted. He wore a condom though! It must have broke!” There are tears in her eyes, and she looks so earnest that Misha almost feels bad. Almost.

Jared is silent beside him, gripping Misha's leg so hard he's actually shaking him. His knuckles are white against the blue of Misha's torn denim jeans. Misha desperately wants to take that hand into his and hold it, or maybe offer Jared an Ativan, or a Valium. He's not good in these situations.

“Apparently,” Gerry says, through tightly clenched teeth. “We'll split the costs of the wedding, of course. No need to make a big deal about the situation. Something small, but I won't have my son getting married in a court hou---”

“He can't marry her,” Misha blurts out suddenly because he can't, right? Jared said he couldn't, so he couldn't.

“You have no part in this son,” Gerry says sharply, if not unkindly. “This is a family situation.”

Casting a look at Jared, Misha is surprised when he shakes his head 'no' violently. He's pale, and sweaty and looks like he's about to puke. That's pretty much how Misha feels. He wonders if he looks as bad as Jared does.

“Right then,” Mr. Bledel continues on as if no one had interrupted. “Small wedding. As you said, there's no reason to glorify the situation, but let’s not have it seem as if we're ashamed----”

“We have to get married?” Jared chokes, and Misha loses the feeling in his toes. He sounds surprised, but Misha knows he isn't. Jared saw this coming, and Misha had told him it would be okay. Which makes Misha a filthy liar. What's new?

“Son,” Gerry says. “You got her in the family way and you're going to take care of it. You're going to do your job.”

“I will,” Jared agrees. “I'm not saying I don't want to acknowledge the....the...” he swallows hard. “The baby. But marriage? We don't have to get married. I can still be the dad without being her husband.”

“That's just not done,” Mrs. Bledel says, echoing Jared's words from earlier. “People will talk. You did this to her! I won't let you ruin her reputation further. You pressured her to have sex---”

Something snaps in Jared. It's almost audible. If Misha didn't hear it, he surely felt it. “With all due respect, Mrs. Bledel; it might take two to tango but from what I could tell, your daughter's been dancing for a long time. Hell, she's the one who thought to bring a condom when I told her we should wait.”

Misha sputters, turning to look at Jared with wide, appreciative eyes. Jared just doesn't say things like that, he's not that kind of guy. He respects women to a fault and would never dare to insult one, let alone in front of her parents.

Apparently, Jared's been pushed just a little too far. Misha is inexplicably proud, even if he's pretty sure it's going to be for naught. But still, Jared is making himself heard, and that has to matter.

“Jared!” Alexis says with wide, horrified eyes. She's really very pretty, but Misha couldn't care less. “How can you... how can you say something like that? I was a vi---”

“Please,” Jared snaps at her. “I was barley even hard, Alexis. I told you that I thought it was too soon, and you kept pushing. Mr. and Mrs. Bledel, whatever you may think of me, I didn't pressure your daughter into anything. She got what she asked for, in the back of my mom's van, I might add.”

Mrs. Bledel strikes faster than any one could expect, reaching and slapping Jared hard across the face. Sharon is there in an instant, motherly rage burning in her eyes. “Don't you dare lay a hand on my son! Don't you dare.”

“How dare he insinuate that my daughter is a...a...a....”

“A what? A pregnant teenager?” Sharon slams back. “Look at the facts, Mrs. Bledel. She's eighteen and pregnant and as my son so wisely put it, it takes two to tango. It doesn't matter if it was their first time on the dance floor, the dance was done. You're daughter laid on her back and spread her legs, so please don't call us fools by claiming her a Virgin Mary.”

“Actually she was on top,” Jared threw out spitefully. It's kind of turning Misha on, but now is really not the time. Jared seems to agree because the fight in him wilts away, and leaves him pleading. “Please... don't make me marry her. I'm sorry but I don't love her, and you can't want that for her, can you? To trap her in a marriage like that? I'll help her with the baby. I'll drop out of college if I have to, and move back here,” he said with a long sigh. “But please don't make me marry her.”

“You listen here---”

“Please, I can't---”

“Jared, be reasonable--”

“You don't understand, I'm---”

“Baby no one will make you---”

“Don't let them make me, Mom---”

“You're going to marry her whether you like it---”

“What about college?” Jared asks, talking to his lap.

Gerry speaks up, taking a moment to consider it. His eyes flicker to Misha, narrowed and thoughtful, much to Misha's anxiety. It's the kind of look that makes you feel naked. He can't possibly know that Misha has a perma-boner for his son, he just can't. But Misha still wants to wither away and hide in between the couch cushions.

“You'll finish up your year,” he explains, “and move back here. Now, I don't want to do this son, but if you don't marry her, we...we won't be inclined to pay for the rest of your schooling. You can take classes in San Antonio, and work on the farm. But if you don't do right by Mrs. Bledel, well, we're gonna have to put your college fund toward that baby instead.”

“Dad!” Jared looks terrified, and Misha knows without knowing that Gerald Padalecki is not a man who bluffs. And, apparently, he's not a man above blackmailing his son. “You know how bad I want to go to school. You know how hard I worked. I don't want to work on the farm---”

“And I've respected that,” Gerry says plainly. “It was never my intention to strap you down here, son. I sent you off to college, didn't I? And I'm not asking you to give that up. I'm just asking you to come back home, and do it different.”

The grip on Misha's leg tightens so much, Misha can't help but grunt in pain. It startles Jared, who loosens his hand but never takes it away, like his grip on Misha is the only thing grounding him. Misha would like to believe he's that important, he really would.

Swallowing, Jared nods and goes right back to that shy, awkward freshman Misha met months ago. “Fine,” he manages to breath out, agreeably. “Make me marry her.”

*

The holiday is significantly subdued by then. It cools somewhat, but it's nowhere near as cold it could be back home. Jared is sitting on his bed, tying his shoes with a look on his face not dissimilar to a man preparing to march to his death. “Alexis is coming over today,” he says, and that explains the look.

“Oh,” Misha frowns. “Do you want me to get out of here? Give you two a minute?”

“No!” Jared says with such a force, Misha can't help but be blown away. “If you leave me here alone, I swear that I'll...I'll...tell Mike where you're hiding his pubes. You know he's still wondering.”

“You wouldn't dare,” Misha tosses back, narrowing is own eyes. “You know I have plans for them.” He intended to implement them when he got home. If Jared ruined the surprise...

“Please don't leave me,” Jared breathes out, hands shaking. As if Misha would.

“As if I would.”

The Padalecki Parental Units have made themselves scarce. There's still some farm-hands milling about in dirty jeans and plaid shirts, each one giving Jared grim smiles, and sad back-slaps. They meet Alexis at the front gate, and follow her little red Civic to the same pizza place Jared took Misha on their non-date. Misha realizes, absently, that it's probably one of the only few options for public-eating in the town, and the only one even remotely appropriate for teenagers. He feels grossly older, at twenty-four. Why hadn't he thought to graduate by now?

“Why did you bring him?” She asks, with no audible malice in her voice, but Misha is pretty sure he can see the hatred in her blue eyes. Then again, he hates her, so maybe he's bias. “I thought this was our date.”

Jared blinks at her, and then winces so sharply it's painful to watch. “Alexis,” he says slowly, giving her a tight smile. “We're not dating. We stopped doing that when we broke up. We're talking about... what we're going to do from here.”

Eyes widening, her face pales. “I thought we were getting married. You told your parents you were marrying me, you can't back out now!”

“I'm not!” Jared hisses, and then shakes his head. “Look, can we just go inside?” They're standing in front of the restaurant’s door, creating a small-town scene, Misha thinks. People are staring, that's for sure, but by now, he figures it's already all around town that Jared Padalecki got Alexis Bledel pregnant. Misha hates small towns. Or at least he hates this one.

She huffs at him, smoothing hand down her dark green dress. She's paired it with khaki colored leggings and a silver hair band. The gay in Misha thinks she looks like a fat Christmas tree. The straight in Misha thinks she looks like Satan.

“Does he have to be here?” She asks, jerking her pointed chin at Misha.

Taking a step closer to Misha, Jared looks grim. “Yes,” he says simply. “Misha is the only thing keeping me from screaming.”

“Far be it for me to keep you from screaming,” The words spill out of his mouth with so much bitter resentment, he can't stop them. “Jared's always been a screamer, but then, you'd know, right? Or would you? From what he's told me, you're performance left a lot to be desired.” Misha doesn't know that, but he look on her face is worth it. He glances at Jared, hoping he isn't mad, and breathes a sigh of relief when all he finds on his friends face is shock and belated amusement. “Shall we? I'm just dying to get some sausage in my mouth.”

It's an attempt at sick-humor that apparently goes over Alexis's empty head. “You're gay?” She blurts out. “You and Jared---”

“Alexis,” Jared says sharply, a warning.

“No,” Misha assures her, with sweet condescension. He isn't gay in the slightest. He's much worse than that. “I'm not and we haven't.”

Jared gives him a weird look, and sighs. “Let's just eat.”

“Homosexuality is a sin,” Alexis says haughtily, stepping into the restaurant. “Seriously, it's disgusting. I can---”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jared growls, shocking both Misha and the girl. “Shut your goddamn mouth.”

They're creating another scene. The restaurant is about the size of a public restroom and it's not empty. People give Jared dirty looks, and the girl sad, empathetic glances. They look at Misha like he's a banana slug, but that's okay. It's probably because he's wearing a vest and tie in a mom-and-pop pizza parlor. The formality makes him feel better; it's like armor, and comforting in the same way that he finds yoga pants relaxing. Not to knock Jared and his family, but this town is full of rednecks who wouldn't know a neck tie if it bit them in the dick. He knows it's not right to believe he's better than anyone else, but honestly, it makes him feel better. He's always been a bit of an asshole and he's not going to deny it now.

“Oh my God Jared!” Alexis hisses, tucking her girth into a booth seat. “You can't talk to me like that! I'm your fiance---”

“You're a spoiled little brat,” Jared sputters out. “Alexis. Get it through your highlighted, empty little head. I don't like you, I broke up with you. I don't want to marry you. I'm being forced.”

“You got me pregnant---”

“Not on his own, he didn't,” Misha corrects her. “I mean, it's not like he borrowed your uterus for the day and returned it full of fetus.”

“Misha,” Jared snorts, and it's nice to see him smiling. “But he's right, ‘Lex. I didn't get you pregnant, we got you pregnant. It doesn't change the fact that I don't want to get married, I really don't.”

Her eyes tear up, and he can feel Jared's firm resolve crumbling. “You can't expect more,” Misha says, cutting through the teary awkwardness. “Are you really ready to get married?”

“My mom married at eighteen,” Alexis hiccups, like that's a good answer. Does the girl not have a solid thought in her head. “Everyone gets married in my family young. But they’re happy! My parents are happy.”

“You're parents are harpies,” Misha corrects in an ignored mutter.

“Doesn't change the facts,” Jared sighs. “Look, I'm doing this. I'm going to be there for you, and take care of our child, and die slowly in a state of constant misery. I'm not going to sit here and thank you for that.”

Her face turns cold. “You should be happy!” She snaps at him. “You’re lucky you I'm letting you marry me. You were a total loser in high school. I was way too popular for you, but ---”

“But what?” Jared cuts her off darkly. “What, ‘Lex? Did you beg me to fuck you out of pity? Was it a dare? Or was it because clearly you were looking for a husband and my family has money?”

Misha has a total boner right now; something about seeing Jared get mad and swear makes him want to come in his pants. Jared is radiating fury beside him, as he looks down at the insipid twat opposite the table.

“Like any one would date you otherwise,” Alexis growls. “You always thought you were better than everyone, Jared, and it wasn't cute. Always off on your own, too good to talk to your class mates. Going off to college, because you're just too good to run your dad's ranch, because you’re so much smarter than everyone else, right?”

Jared reels, and Misha can understand why. Jared had never made it out to sound like he thought he was better, only that he didn't know where to fit in. He's not the type of guy to look down on others; he's too respectful for that. “You just called me a loser,” he reminds her. “And reminded me how popular you were. Don't tell me I'm the one who looked down on others. Pick a side and stick with it because I'm not going to sit here and let you talk to me like that.”

Just when he thinks he couldn't get harder, Misha is proven otherwise. Really, this has to be one of the most inappropriate boners in the history of inconvenient hard-ons.

She gives him an inscrutable look before blinking. “You've changed,” she said at last, before her smile turns nasty. “For the better, I guess. I don't want a total wimp for a husband.”

Looking at her for a long, uncomfortable moment, Jared nods, maybe to himself, Misha's not sure. “We're done here,” he says, before they've even order.

*

  
**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/) **

  


 

It's the night before Thanksgiving, and the house is dead silent. Jared is sitting at the bottom of the stairs, right where the moonshine comes in through the loft window, making his skin look pale and washed out as he feels.

He can't sleep. Tomorrow, the Padaleckis will be meeting the Bledels. Not just Alexis's parents, but her grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings as well. They're calling it an engagement party, and Jared knows it wasn't easy to slap together in the few days they managed. They've rented out the one hall in town big enough to accommodate the two families, a converted barn that Jared expects to be tastefully decorated under the brutal instructions of both his and Alexis's mother. It's a matter of convenience though, he supposes, as the families were gathering anyway for the holidays. A catering company was hired last minute, charging an insurmountable sum for the last-minute holiday demands. Still, it's done, and tomorrow he'll be forced to stand up in front of all of them and announce his intentions. His parents’ intentions. Whatever.

“JT?” His mom says, padding gently down the stairs. She sits beside Jared on the wide staircase, and lets loose a long and tired sigh. Instantly, Jared feels guilty and ungrateful. Really, his parents weren't being unrealistic. They were asking what was expected of him; he wasn't the first to knock a girl up, and he wouldn't be the last. This was just how it was done. “Can't sleep?”

“Not really,” Jared replied quietly. “Didn't want to wake up Misha with my tossing and turning so I thought I'd come down here.”

His mother makes a noise Jared can't decipher and seems to sag beside him. “Misha,” she echos. “He seems like a very nice boy, if a bit older than you. I'm glad you brought him home. I can tell he's done wonders for you, baby.” She pauses long enough for him to force away his blush. He can't talk about Misha to his mother right now, he just can't. Everything is all wrong. “JT... Jared. Is there anything you want to tell us before... before tomorrow? Anything at all? You know we love you right, and we'll love you no matter what. I know I look like we're asking for the impossible---”

“You're not,” Jared cuts her off, guilt mounting inside him. “This is the right thing to do. It's partially my fault, and I'm going to... step up to the plate, I guess. It's okay.”

“I feel like we're making a mistake,” his mother admits, pulling Jared tight against her. It's nice; he's missed her. “I hate seeing you so miserable. And the Bledels... Alexis seems like a nice girl, but her parents----”

“It'll be okay mom,” Jared lies. He's flabbergasted as to how his mom can believe Alexis is a nice girl, but then again, Jared had believed as much, right up until she's pulled a condom out of her bra. “It's how it's done.”

“That it is,” his mother echoes sadly and Jared has the inexplicable urge to count the days between his parents wedding anniversary and his brother’s birth date. He decides against it because really, he doesn't want to know. His parents love each other, no matter the circumstances. “I'm glad you're not fighting. I'm sorry it's come to this, but...” Jared thinks that his mother actually means 'sorry for letting your dad use the one thing that matters to you against you' but he doesn't call her on it.

“It's alright,” he lies again.

The morning comes and he looks like hell. No one is so bold as to tell him so, but Misha's wide, startled looks say enough. He's never seen Misha so unsettled and he almost regrets inviting him save for the selfish part of him that is sure he'd have fallen apart by now if his friend hadn't been there. He eats his breakfast functionary bite by precautionary bite, finding only some small humor in the horrified looks Misha is giving the sausage links. To say the least, Thanksgiving is a sad affair, not that anyone would admit it. Even Megan is behaving, which is unlike her and makes Jared weirdly sad. Jeff and his wife are expected to be in for the dinner, and he wonders if any one's spared a moment to explain the situation to him. He's not anticipating that lecture.

Suddenly he's struck with the desperate urge to run. Run away from his family's little looks of uncomfortable sympathy, run away from the awkward breaking silence. He can't handle it. He can't breathe. He just...he needs to run.

Dumping his dishes into the sink without even bothering to rinse them, he yanks Misha out of his chair with no finesse. “We're going for a run,” he announces, feeling older then he should in his eighteen years. God. They're going to make him get married.

Married.

It's seriously possible that the idea of marriage frightens him far more then the idea of a baby does. In fact he's sure of it.

“Jared?” Misha asks, stumbling out the door as he struggles to mash his feet into his shoes. He should slow down, but he doesn't. Can't. He needs to get the fuck out of there, needs to run. So he does. He runs, Misha falling in easy step beside him, neck tie swinging over his shoulder, at odds with his old jeans. They run, in silence, because Misha seems to understand Jared's need for the world to just shut up. They run, and run, and run until Misha is lagging and Jared is panting, chest on fire like it's filled with ants.

He leans against the big oak tree they've come to rest near, and looks up with a nostalgic smile on his face. “Come on,” he says with stilted breath, jerking his chin up. There are boards, long ago nailed into the tree's trunk for climbing, and they use them, scaling the old oak in careful steps. Perched on the thick, dipped branch, Jared scoots over just far enough for Misha to drop down beside him, their feet dangling high above the ground.

“There used to be a tree house here,” Jared explains, pointing to the odd board still nailed to various thick branches. “My dad built it for my brother when he was like, ten. Storm took it out a few years ago but I still like this tree.”

Giving him a concerned look, Misha nods. “It's a very nice tree,” he says slowly, earning a laugh out of Jared.

“Shut up!” He says, giving Misha a careful shove. “I just... couldn't stand it in there. Thanks Mish’. I know this isn't exactly your definition of vacation but...”

“It's no one's cup of tea,” he agrees. “But... well.” He gives Jared a pitiful look. Misha is horrible at expressing any kind of feelings, but Jared understands.

“Yeah,” he hums. “I'm glad you're here too.”

Misha frowns, and looks out over the fields before them, sun still high in the sky. “Maybe.... Maybe you just need to make yourself undesirable, or something. Maybe you could tell them you're a convicted felon or... or you've got herpes, or something.”

“I'm not telling my parents I have herpes,” Jared laughs, and leans into Misha. “If you come up with a reason why I might be undesirable, then by all means, tell my parents. Just not herpes.”

*

Arriving in droves (of pick-up trucks and sturdy Suburbans), family comes, dressed in their holiday best. “Back home,” Misha offers in a quiet but mischievous tone beside Jared where he's being forced to stand and meet the guest, “plaid is a trendy occasional piece mandatory for every respectable scene-kid's wardrobe.”

“Here, they have plaid underwear,” Jared says with a snort. “I've seen it. It's thermal and comes with matching socks.”

Misha gets a look in his eye and Jared is pretty sure their luggage is going to include a pair of thermal, plaid underpants on the trip home. Suddenly, his head jerks and he gives Jared one of his old smiles, the one before Jared got it in his head to bring Misha here. “You know,” he begins, leaning against the door jam and waiting patiently as Jared bumbles through another welcome. “When I met you, I thought you were the epitome of a good old Texas boy, with your sweet little accent, solid tan, and big hair---”

“I do not have big hair!” It's not big. It's... just excessive.

“But you're...” He looks around, eyes catching on some of the dirtier looking family members. He'd like to say they were Alexis's, but they're not. Most of his family are blue-collar farm and ranch workers who spend most there time elbow-deep mucking stalls and fixing tractors. He's pretty sure he saw one of his cousins wearing a neck tie with his overalls.

“I'm a blight against the society that is the true rough-and-tumble backwater Texan,” Jared offers with his own depreciating grin. “College boy, remember? I'm pretty much unnatural, not that Texans are uneducated, they're not. But my family is very about the family-business. Like I said, I was never ostracized, but they didn't exactly invite me to play in all there reindeer games, if you know what I mean? They thought I was weird. Maybe I am.” He snorts to himself; if they knew the truth about him, they'd really think he was a freak.

Misha winces, which was not Jared's intention, and he means to apologize when someone slips there baby-soft, acrylic-nailed hand into his. “Jared?”

“Hi Alexis,” he says dutifully, if not flatly. “Our families are sitting together for the... announcement. It's the bigger table near the end of the hall.” He points to the table just in question on the likely chance she should get lost along the way.

“I just wanted to say I was sorry for what I said,” she mumbles, cheeks blushing. “The hormones...” she adds with a pitiful little whimper, mouth pulling into the frown. Jared almost buys it. Almost.

As it were, Misha has no less urge to attend Alexis's impromptu pity-party. “Right,” he snaps at her, much to Jared's surprise. “Hormones. Hormones make people do and say things they normally wouldn't, but that doesn't mean they don't believe them true. It's kind of like drinking, in that way. Maybe the hormones made you say it, but you picked things you knew would hurt him.” Jared refrains from correcting him; he hadn't been hurt exactly, just morbidly embarrassed. “Because you knew Jared; you knew what would hurt. That's not hormones, that's you. Fuck your hormones, they're unfortunate, but not an excuse. No go away, you insipid little cunt-waffle.”

Alexis's eyes are wide, and Jared wondered when he found them pretty. Whenever it was, times have apparently changed, because now all he can see is a pushy, spoiled, hateful little girl he put in a bad situation only to have her put him in a worse. Mores the pity him, really. Anyway, her eyes might be blue, but they have nothing compared to Misha's. If Alexis's eyes are blue, then Misha's are something better; cerulean or cobalt.

“You can't let him talk to me like that,” Alexis manages to stammer out, face unattractively red. “You're my husband! Wives come before friends.”

“Not yet I'm not,” Jared says quietly. “And I'll never pick you over Misha.”

Suddenly... he knows what he needs to do.

  
*

“...so glad you all could come. Now we know the situation isn't ideal, but a baby ain't anything but a blessing---”

Jared steels himself to make himself as undesirable as he possibly can. He'd have preferred to do it in private, but he knows if he just tells his parents, and her parents, he'll get railroaded back into the marriage. His parents... they'll love him no matter what, and the rest of them? They can all fuck off. He loves his home town, but the people... well. If they like him, they'll like him no matter what. If they don't? It's no skin off his teeth. He's going to do it, just stand up and say it. Blurt it out for the world to know. This way, well... it's taking a risk, but it's worth keeping Misha. Even just as a friend. God, but Jared is crazy over him. He doesn't expect it to be returned like... ever, after this crisis, but at least Misha is still here, holding his hand under the table.

It doesn't matter what will happen. They won't make him marry Alexis.

His father's voice draws him back to the current. This is his chance. He has to do it now. “....so I'd like to announce that sometime next year, my son Jared, and the young Ms. Bledel will....”

He's going to say it. He's going to tell them he's gay. Really, he is. Right now. Right this minute.

…

He can't do it.

 

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Chapter One for Blanket Warning and Disclaimer

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/)

  
Neither Misha nor Jared have the stomach to eat much as they stumble their way through dinner. The family, both Jared and Alexis', are kind enough, with pitying smiles, and limp handshakes. Misha pities Jared too, but for entirely different reasons. Even more so, and with the selfishness of a small child denied, Misha pities himself. It's a sad fact, and still totally true.   
  
Mostly, Jared and Misha stay hidden in Jared's room at the top of the stairs with the big bay windows that let in way to much light in the mornings. The Padalecki's are obliging, leaving Jared, and sub sequentially, Misha to their on devices. Misha realizes that Jared is moping but if any one deserves to mope at the moment, it's Jared.   
  
“There's no porn in here,” he says, leaning over the edge of the bed to peak beneath it. He's bored and has taken to snooping to fill the time.   
  
From his sprawl on the bed, Jared laughs over the book he's reading. “If I had porn, I wouldn't keep it under my bed. I have a little sister, you know? They're black-mail material blood hounds.”   
  
“You don't have porn?” Misha repeats, wondering how this never came up before. Who doesn't have porn? Mike has a hole external hard-drive dedicated to just porn. Misha knows this because he has, on several occasions, stolen it and filled it with midget donkey shows. One time he filled it with transsexual relations, but as a open bisexual, that only served to confuse and entice Mike further.   
  
Holding his page with this thumb, Jared shakes his head. “You know, I've had this conversation once before, with Chad. I don't have porn. I've never really liked it.”   
  
“You don't like porn.” Misha cannot understand this on any level. What is not to love about watching mildly attractive people with generally awesome bodies fuck. “It's...it's porn! How can you not like it!?”   
  
Jared half shrugs, flipping open his lap top where it's seated on the pillow. It's amazing that Jared fits in a dorm bed at all, considering the size of him. This bed, however, is large enough to contain to fully grown men -some more grown than others- and it is unfortunately giving Misha ideas. Great, fantastic, sticky, horrible ideas. As it is becoming more and more apparent that the circus is coming to town and it's pitching it's tent in Misha's pants, he rolls onto his belly, propping his head in his hands.   
  
“I've always found it's a bit demoralizing I guess,” Jared explains, shoving his computer at Misha. “Anyway, you want porn? I hear tell the internet is full of it. Just no jerking off on my bed.”   
  
He knows of course that this is a horrible idea and that Jared is probably just baiting him but he takes the computer. Sitting up and curling himself into a cross-legged position, he sits directly next to Jared, giving him perfect view of the screen.   
  
Jared says nothing, so Misha continues on, tapping away at familiar keys until one of his most favored gay-for-pay sites appears. He has a full membership here, an all access pass to Ultimate Gay Chicken. It had, unsurprisingly, been Mike's annual Christmas gift for the last four years. They share passwords, and this isn't the only one Misha has. It's no coincidence that today he's decided to go with straight-college-boys-doing-gay-things. He's a sick sick man and he knows it. “Hmm,” he says, perhaps a little to loudly, but Jared stays perfectly interested in his book. Misha scrolls through the list of links, and if he clicks a picture of two brunettes, one short and pale and one tall and tan, well that's no ones business but his own and maybe Jared's since it's his computer and his bed.   
  
As the video played, a three by three inch square left of center on the otherwise twink filled screen, Misha fought the urge to jam his finger down on the mute button. Even so, the sound was tinny and quiet as it escaped out the lap top's on board speakers. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found it lacking the typical bow-chicka-wow-wow backdrop of music as Misha had always found it distracting. It's the typical college frat boy set up; two broke guys, half a bottle of Jack, and an 'easy' two hundred bucks. He glances at the names listed in the little caption below the play-box; Sam and Cas. He has no idea which is which, but it's enough to begin with.   
  
It opens with a kissing scene, which while not uncommon in gay-for-pay (these things are done in increments, naturally) it still makes Misha's stomach squirm inside him like a coked-out eel. The kiss is awkward as they bump noses and fret about where to put their hands. It's sweet in a demented gay sort of way.   
  
Misha didn't hear the cue but it's obvious that the director has instructed them to progress as the bigger one, Sam Misha has decided, presses the heel of his hand against Cas's pants earning a surprised and guilty sounding grunt. Ah, straight-boys, so ashamed to admit they like it, Misha thinks with an abject sort of fondness. Zippers are undone, shoved to the knees with surprisingly little shame. This part Misha has always viewed as a sort of pissing contest; who's a show-er, and who's a grower. They're both hard, surprise surprise, cocks pulled free out the top of their cheap cotton boxers. Sam has one hand on his balls and one hand on his cock, not stroking, but holding as he watches Cas pull out his uncut dick.   
  
The surprise is obvious, Sam hasn't been expecting foreskin. It's enough to creep any respectable straight man out, but the big guy doesn't seem disgusted. No, he's obviously curious, and it makes Misha curious too. He doesn't mean to, but his mouth forms the words before his brain can stop him. “Are you circumcised?” he asks.   
  
Jared boggles for a moment, head snapping up from his book. They're drawn instantly to the men on the screen, dicks out and hard in their hands. “Whaaa?”   
  
Well, there's no going back now, so Misha repeats himself. “Are you circumcised? I'm circumcised. Do they do that in the here?”   
  
“It's Texas,” Jared says with a strangled sort of fondness. He's blushing a little, but no where near the level he would have three months ago. Misha is sort of proud. “Not a third world country.”   
  
“So you are?” Misha asks, ignoring the surprised sounding grunts escaping the laptop speakers. “I've never seen foreskin in real life.”   
  
Jared flushes guiltily and Misha winces as his own cock scrapes painfully against his zipper. “I...uh. No.” Jared blinks, and flushes deeper. “It's not like a religious thing. Um. Josh just had a bad experience or something as a baby, so when I came around my parents decided against it.” The whole confession is followed up with a squeaking sort of 'meep' and Misha looks back at the computer to find they've made it all the way to blowy's while he was looking away. Cas, for all his previous hesitance, has his mouth wrapped wide around Sam's cock. He can't manage more than half, but it's wet and squelching and he's added his hand into the mix. It makes Misha's dick twitch.   
  
“Can you pierce foreskin?” Misha asks at random. “I bet you could.”   
  
Jared is looking at the screen now, his eyes wide. “I'm not going to!” He manages to sputter, tearing his eyes away to look at Misha. “Who would pierce their dick? Honestly!”   
  
Misha shrugs and then smirks. “I did.”   
  
There is a long pause, and Misha forces himself to look at the money-shot happening on screen, a respectable pearl necklace painting Cas from neck to nose. Sam looks smug and Cas looks embarrassed and Misha will have to book mark this one for later.   
  
“You uh...you pierced.... I mean, didn't it hurt?” Jared manages out, eyes wide and book abandoned.   
  
“It's possibly the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced,” Misha admits, shifting where he's sitting cross legged on the bed. “But then it's awesome. Plus it's really good when I'm----”   
  
“Can I see it?”   
  
While an excellent maneuver to distract Misha from explaining just what a dick piercing is really good for, it's the last thing he expects to come out of Jared's mouth. Except for maybe what comes out of his own mouth not a second after. “Can I see yours?”   
  
“My what?” Jared replies and because Misha knows the boy is not an idiot, he lets it slide. He's shocked, Misha figures. Hell, Misha's shocked. Is he out of his freaking mind?   
  
“Your dick,” Misha reiterates and wishes he hadn't. How the hell had this happened. Then again, Jared asked first, so really the blame for this grand display in poor thinking, for once, is not his. “Can I see it?”   
Jared's eyes narrow for a moment, but he seems to come to some decisions. “This can't be any weirder then the stuff you've done with Mike,” he rationalizes and Misha agrees. Mostly because he would really like to see Jared's junk. It's wrong and immoral but whatever, Misha's done worse.   
  
The sound of Jared's zipper makes his dick harder than anything on the abandoned computer screen could possibly. Jared is wearing green boxers decorated with bright orange turkeys and Misha knows without a doubt that his mother bought them. Misha himself is wearing absolutely nothing at all under his own pants. His dick bobs in relief and he lets it unabashedly. “What? I was just watching porn,” he defends, as Jared pauses his own ministrations to give Misha a look.   
  
“Fair enough,” Jared concedes, finally freeing his dick. It lays limp against his stomach, but even soft it's impressive. A show-er then, Misha concludes. Jared cups his hand over it shyly, and Misha does not miss the way it twitches at the touch.   
  
“A plus for landscaping,” he says, and then clears his throat roughly. Jared is neatly trimmed, the short curls a stark contrast against the untanned skin of his pelvis. Jared has his shirt hiked up, exposing a soft set of abs, freshly formed and barely visible under the skin of Jared's stomach. Below that, Misha can see the sharp jut of Jared's hip bones, and he's suddenly glad he already had a boner.   
  
Jared coughed, blushing hotly. “Um. Yeah. You shave,” he states in reply, and it's not untrue. Misha prefers to clear the whole lawn, so to speak, rather then trim the hedges. He's not small, but less hair down under has been said to make a man look bigger.   
  
“If I let it grow out my pubes catch on my zippers,” he explains with a shrug. It makes his dick bob and slap against his soft white underbelly. At least it looks like a soft white underbelly compared to Jared's tanned and toned baby-abs. The bastard had been sneaking to the gym without Misha.   
  
Nodding, Jared snorts. “So you just...never wear boxers?”   
  
“They bunch,” Misha defends mildly. “If you hold it any tighter it's going to fall off,” he adds, eying Jared's downstairs pointedly. Jared is actually a little bit hard now, probably from the firm hold he has on his junk, cupping it protectively from Misha's interested eyes.   
  
Instantly, Jared releases his cock and it springs forward like a flag pole. Contrary to previous conclusions, it would seem that Jared is not a shower. What he is, however, is surprisingly large. In Misha's history, it's the big guys who tend to have the small cocks, so this is a pleasant surprise. Apparently Misha is a shameless size queen. Who knew?Jared isn't sporting the baseball bats seen in porn, but it's an overly respectable eight inches at a glance. Misha knows that any man who claims he's eight inches is really seven, and any man who claims he's seven is really six. Misha himself is seven (six) and damn proud of it.   
  
Reminding himself that he came to see the foreskin, Misha focuses his gaze on the head of Jared's cock. It's not gross, like he kind of expected. The only time Misha has paid any kind of attention to foreskin is the life-like drawing he saw in high-school anatomy, and that one had looked a little bit like the head of an earthworm. Jared’s, in contrary, looks nothing like an earth worm. It's just skin, pulled loose over the tip of Jared's cock, exposing the red, wet looking head.   
  
“Oh God, please stop staring,” Jared chokes, and Misha looks up to find his friend staring at the ceiling, hands bunched in the comforter.   
  
Swallowing, Misha clears his throat and backs away. Apparently he'd closed the distance between himself and Jared's cock by about two feet. One more foot and he'd be giving the boy head and oh God, he needs to not think about that. He can already feel the tiny pearl of pre-come forming at the head of his cock, and subtly wipes it away before sucking in a breath and promptly choking on it. “Um. Eye for an eye. Cock for a cock, whatever.”   
  
He leans back, stretching his legs out in front of him. His pants are pushed down much father then Jared's, all the way to his knees. Unlike Jared's uncut cock, Misha's lays flat against his stomach and curves slightly to the left.   
  
“Jesus Christ,” Jared breaths, and he's leaned in too, so much that Misha can feel that warm breath on his stomach. “It's like, right through the head. God, that makes mine hurt just from looking at it.”   
  
“Yeah if I take it out I can piss through two holes,” Misha replies somewhat breathlessly. “I was going to get a ladder, but the guy said this was way better. Took forever to heal. But uh---”   
  
“Jared honey, are you coming down for din---- Oh my country fried Christ,” Jared's mom says from the door, the hamper of laundry dropping to the floor with a plasticky-smack.   
  
“It's not what it looks like!” Jared says, straightening up at once. He shoves his shirt down, but it's not enough to cover his whole dick, so he grabs the pillow, inconveniently knocking the computer over. Suddenly the volume is no longer muffled, and Sam and Cas can be heard quite clearly grunting along with the sounds wet flesh smacking against wet flesh. “It's uh...it's not what it looks like?” Jared repeats.   
  
Sharron nods dumbly. “Okay,” is all she says, closing the door behind her.   
  
“Well,” Misha breathes out,forcing himself back into his pants. “That was interesting.”   
  
Jared just groans takes the pillow off his cock and tries to smother himself with him. It gives Misha invaluable time to ogle his cock, for which he only feels slightly ashamed later in the shower after he comes his brains out thinking about it.   
  
They don't speak of it again, and Sharon stops serving sausage at breakfast.   
  


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/)

  
The rest of his thanksgiving vacation was a bit anticlimactic after that. His parents were on the good side of weird about it, offering nothing but tight smiles and encouraging words. Jared believes without a doubt that they'd support him no matter his decisions; if he suddenly decides he wanted to become a woman, he thinks they'd do their best to understand. However, he imagines his recent decisions were having an impact on his family. He'd knocked a girl up, and was probably going to get a nice shot-gun wedding come the next holidays. He wouldn't put it past his parents to give him a wife as a Christmas gift.   
  
Then he'd come back here, at the end of the year, enroll himself in some blue-collar community college just to say he didn't give up and spend the rest of his life neglecting his degree and mucking out the pig-pens to support his wife and kid.   
  
With these thoughts in mind, the trip home was nothing short of subdued.   
  
“Stop sighing or I'm going to choke you with airplane peanuts,” Misha threatens beside him, as they're waiting to board. “I will cram them down your gullet, I swear. Come on Jared, you still have half a year ahead of you. Don't think on it yet.”   
  
“I have to go back for Christmas,” Jared replies tightly. “They're probably going to make me get married, Misha. It's going to happen before the baby is born, I have no doubts.”   
  
Misha looks down, staring at the slightly crumpled ticket in his hand, tucked into its little pamphlet. “Can I come?” he says, with no readable inflection. He's seen Misha use this tactic before, to throw people off, or confuse them into agreeing with him, but Misha's never done it to Jared. It leaves him more confused than before. “I mean, do you want me there?”   
  
  
  
“I don't want to go back there at all,” Jared replies, vehemently, but what he'd rather be saying is “kidnap me and hide me in your bathroom'. “I'll understand if you don't want to come, I mean, who would after this shit? But I don't think I can alone. If I have to get married, I want you to be there. As my best man, or something. Fuck, I hate this. I'm not going home for Christmas. It can wait ‘til Spring Break. Sure, she'll be really pregnant, but who the fuck cares.”   
  
Misha turns back to him, and the look he's been sporting the whole time in Texas is gone. His cocky little half smirk is back in place, tugging up the left corner of his mouth. It's the best thing Jared's seen all week. “Why Jared, that sounds awfully like an opinion. You don't think you'll go home for Christmas?” He repeats Jared's words back at him, lifting a brow in challenge or question.   
  
“I'm not going if you're not going,” Jared says firmly, suddenly decided. “And you're not going.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“We're staying,” Jared tells him. Then winces. “I mean, that is if you don't have plans. You're family, maybe? Sorry, that was stupid of me. God---” can he not think of anyone else but himself for like two seconds? Misha probably thinks he's an ass, especially after this week, and Jared doesn't blame him.   
  
“Jared,” Misha cuts him off with a laugh, messenger bag hanging off his arm. “Jared, my parents live in town. So if I want to see them, I can. But not on Christmas. They're spending the holidays in Jamaica at a hedonist resort. I was invited but you can understand my hesitance to accept their invitation.”   
  
“You're parents are nudists?” Is Jared's intelligent reply. But can he really be blamed? Misha's parents are nudists. Shamefully, his first cohesive thoughts on that is 'are his parents as attractive as he is?' and 'is that how Misha spends his summer?'. Jared remembers being a better person than this. College is just expensive corruption; he finds that he doesn't mind.   
  
Misha snorts. “On occasion,” he explains. “It's enough to scar a child.”   
  
“It explains a lot actually,” Jared replies teasingly. It actually does, not the nudity part, but the fact that Misha's parents are never around. Jared hadn't even known they lived in town; Misha certainly never leaves to see them. “If your parents live in town, why do you live in the dorms?”   
  
“Did we not just go over the fact that my parents spend an inordinate amount of time in the buff?” Misha asks, throwing his head back in a laugh. “Why the hell would I want to live with them? Anyways, they travel a lot and do charity stuff. They're not around much.”   
  
The doesn't really explain why he lives in the dorms, but Jared doesn't push. “So we can spend Christmas together?”   
  
“You should really go home,” Misha replies, looking forward up the line with a blank face. “They'll want to see you. I can come with you, if you really want me to.” It means more to Jared that Misha would offer then it probably should have, but Jared can't help it.   
  
“They can see me when I move back,” Jared replies bitterly. “But until then, all bets are off. I'm not getting married until I absolutely have to. If I had my way, Alexis would go into labor before the honeymoon just so we didn't have to spend it in the same bed.”   
  
Misha's a little confused by this. He understands Jared's dislike for the girl, but really, she's not exactly hard on the eyes. For all that he loathes her, Jared really shouldn't mind sleeping with her. But, the n again, Jared really isn't that kind of guy.   
  
Misha passes through the metal detector with a look of sheer horror on his face as a robust looking Asian woman with an impressive sprinkling of lip hair decorating her determined looking face demands that he and Jared empty their pockets.   
  
“Can I just take them off?” He pleads much to Jared's amusement. As far as Jared can recall, Misha has always been rather adverse to wearing undergarments of any kind. He claims they bunch.   
  
The woman gives him an unamused look, and repeats her demand. “Empty your pockets into the basket and step through the detector sir.”   
  
“Misha,” Jared huffs, emptying his own pockets of what little they hold. He has his cell phone, his dorm keys, and his wallet, but then, Jared has always been a minimalist. Misha on the other hand, is ridiculous on a daily basis. Jared can't imagine what he'd have in his pockets. He just hopes there isn't anything living, or even dead. Not that he expects Misha to hoard living or dead things, but with Misha you can never really be sure.   
  
With a resigned looking look aimed toward the ceiling, Misha begins the unloading process. His efforts yield two spoons, the spare key to Megan's crappy little Focus, a knob from an oven, something that might have been a mint, forty-six cents in change, a sterling silver napkin ring from Jared's horrific engagement dinner, and several refrigerator magnets.   
  
“It's...” Misha begins, faltering. “I'd like to say that it's not what it looks like....” He tells Jared, with a long sigh, as he steps back through the detector. The burly Asian woman pats him down roughly, before beckoning Jared through. “See, um. Sometimes I... steal things. Not like... I shoplift, and I normally always return stuff, but we were rushing this morning and I had no idea I took the oven-knob, seriously and----”   
  
“Misha,” Jared slings an arm over his shoulder and grins as they grab their carry-on's off the belt. “I know.”   
  
“You know,” Misha repeats flatly. Jared supposes he should have brought it up sooner, like when half a cutlery set fell out of Misha's pants when Jared was picking up his room to do the wash. After that, he just kind of watched Misha, and really, it became obvious that half the time Misha didn't even realize what he was doing. It was just a Misha-thing, and honestly, it clears up more than a few questions. Jared knew he hadn't left his Bronte at Misha's, he knew it. “Really---”   
  
Misha is still staring blankly, but this time when Jared looks he can see absolute panic there. Spinning his friend, he rifles through Misha's bag until he finds the Captain Planet pez dispenser he knows is in there somewhere. They're holding up the line, or rather the line is gracelessly bumping past them in an impatient rush. “Here,” he says quietly, shoving it into Misha's hand. “Take an Ativan.” Only Misha would keep his med's in a candy dispenser.   
  
Misha does, with a surprised look, pushing the little white pill under his tongue. Jared steers him rather forcibly onto the plane, pushing him into the window seat. It's going to be a long trip home

 

 

  


**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/) **

  
  
  
Jared knows that Misha is a freak. To be fair, Jared has seen Misha doing plenty of freaky things; cross dressing, Gay Chicken, 'yoga', and the thing with the cock ring and Mike in the bathroom. Hell, if their introduction—hiding, cackling, boxer-stealing—hadn't scared Jared off, maybe there was hope. But still, Jared knows and Misha's lost enough 'friends' because of this...thing, to be appropriately worried. There are a lot of things Misha would like to do to Jared – kiss him, fuck him, maybe spank him - but losing him?   
  
Well. To be fair, he's losing Jared anyway.   
  
“You know,” he says again, after an hour of silence. “Shit.”   
  
Swiveling his too-big body in the too-small seat, Jared looks at him with a cautious smile. “I didn't really figure it out until the trip. Misha, I'm not like... mad or freaked out, I swear.”   
  
“I steal things,” Misha hisses, embarrassed, honest-to-god embarrassed, to be caught out by Jared, whose opinion matters more to Misha then Misha is comfortable with. No one's opinion has ever really mattered to Misha, he's made himself immune to criticism to keep from getting hurt, but Jared, Jared fucking matters. “I steal things Jared.”   
  
“You give them back,” Jared replies weakly, wincing. “Mostly. And I mean, it's not like you're stealing wallets.”   
  
“Not this time,” Misha corrects him harshly, wanting Jared to see the truth. He won't sugar coat this, not this. “I have though.”   
  
“It's like a nervous tic, right?” Jared asks, sounding nervous himself. Misha would be more upset if it weren't for the Ativan Jared all but shoved in his mouth which is another thing Misha is upset about. He didn't tell Jared about the Ativan, so apparently Misha is way more obvious then he thought. “I've noticed you do it more when you're freaking out. Which, to be fair, I've never seen you freak out before bringing you home. God, I should have never asked. What a fucking mess.”   
  
He both hates and loves it when Jared swears, it's deliciously distracting but he can't think on that right now. “You've noticed,” he repeats, flatly. Jared noticed and never said anything.   
  
“Misha,” Jared pleads, grabbing his hand, and God, what the hell is with the touching? Jared is always touching, always grabbing, always petting and Misha basks in it like a sun-warm cat, but as it never really is, now is not the time.   
  
Tugging his hand out of Jared's, he looks out the window. “Yeah,” he grumbles. “It's a nervous tic, but sometimes it just happens.”   
  
“OCD,” Jared murmurs. “I did wonder. You have systems.”   
  
“I do not,” Misha denies, but that's a lie. He has lots of systems, so deeply ingrained they don't seem like systems at all anymore. He always put his socks on before his pants, and buttons his shirts from the bottom to the top. No one ever really sees them for what they are, weird little coping mechanisms. They write them off as him being weird, which is perfectly fine by Misha, he'd much rather they think him weird than crazy. Only one person, other than Jared apparently, has ever seen them for what they were and that's Mike.   
  
“You eat your food counter clockwise,” Jared replies, and Misha can just hear the smile in his voice. “And you hate prime numbers, you absolutely hate them. \ You open chip bags from the bottom---”   
  
“Okay,” Misha bit out, wondering when the tables had flipped so thoroughly. He was used to being in mysterious. He was really never one to let people know much about him, but here was Jared, who seemed to know more then he knew himself! It wasn't right and it left Misha feeling stupid and unsure for the first time in many years. He didn't care for it. “I get it, Jared. I'm weird, I've always been weird. I'm a freak.” Funny, up until this moment, with his secrets laid bare, it had never felt like a bad thing.   
  
“Why is that bad?” Jared asked, as if reading his thoughts. Jared always did that, and it had the singular effect of making Misha feel naked in public. “Misha, I really don't care. It's just a thing, a Misha thing, okay?”   
  
Slightly mollified – Jared had that effect—Misha huffed. “Misha thing?” He asked, because for all that he was irritated and embarrassed, he was just naturally curious.   
  
“Yeah,” Jared replied, with one of those big dimpled grins Misha had become cripplingly addicted too. Those smiles were coffee, Ativan, and naked-sleeping all rolled into one big ball of happy. “Misha things. Things that make you Misha, like your mismatched socks and your messy hair. And I mean, the stealing-thing, it's not like you like it right?”   
  
“What the hell does that matter?” Misha snapped, frowning. “Of course I don't. And I'm not always this bad really. Mike's helped me a lot. It's just when I'm...” with you, he almost said, but didn't.   
  
“Just stressed?” Jared supplied easily, giving him an earnest look. It wasn't entirely untrue, so Misha nodded. “I think everyone does things when they're stressed. Some people eat, or run or panic. You could have told me, you know? I would have understood.”   
  
Snorting, Misha shook his head. “Mike, Tom and Jensen? They all know.”   
  
“They’re good friends.”   
  
“They're great friends,” Misha agreed. “Amazing even, to have stuck around for this long. But they... they always worry about me. Make decisions based off me, and go out of their way to make sure I'm not... not going to end up in jail. Which, I have. Mike has bail money for me under his bed.” Misha grimaces as that story resurfaces easily to the surface of his mind. “My parents gave it to him last time I was arrested. They all have keys to my room 'just in case', and Mike frisks me every day after classes. He has a box of shit I've stolen in his room he dumps off at Lost and Found once or twice a month.”   
  
He looks up to see Jared frowning and has absolutely no idea why. Luckily for him, Jared is hopelessly honest, and as Misha expected, Jared tells him. “If you told them, why not me? I know that you've known them longer, but I thought....” He fades off, red faced and obviously embarrassed for walking into a Girl Moment, capital letters included.   
  
He doesn't think he's as important as Mike, Tom and Jensen are to Misha, and it's so absurd, he can't help but laugh. “Jared!” He says, a little too loudly. “I didn't tell you because you mean....” the word everything comes to mind but Misha smashes it down with brutal force. “You mean a lot to me. I don't make friends, Jared. Mike is it, and he brought with him Tom and Jensen. You're the first friend I've made in years. I didn't want you....” Ugh, he's really going to say it. “...Babying me, like the others do.”   
  
“I wouldn't have babied you!” Jared denies, scoffing at the notion.   
  
“You would have if you knew about everything before you got to know me,” Misha denies, wishing he could slip back behind his good-ball exterior and be done with this Moment. “With Mike, Tom and Jensen, my identifier is 'the guy who steals shit'. With you....” Well. He didn't know what his identifier was with Jared. He was almost afraid to ask.   
  
“Ostrich egg slayer?” Jared teases, and Misha can't help but smile. Jared really doesn't care that Misha has more hang-ups than a coat rack. “He Who Encourages Cursing? The weird RA who busted into my room, hid behind me and stole my boxers? Misha,” he says with a laugh. “You're my best friend.”   
  
It should make him feel awesome, and bring a smile to his face, but all Misha wants to do is puke. “You too Jared,” he lies, slapping Jared on the knee. Jared is so much more than that.   
  
In the confines of his own mind, Misha admits that love has turned him into a filthy sap.   
  
  
  


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/) ****

  
  
  
Things are different after the Thanksgiving Dinner From Hell. Jared can't exactly put his finger on what's different, but there is a constant undercurrent of tension between he and Misha now. It doesn't help that Jared feels older, weighted down by responsibilities he doesn't even have yet. It's the promise of responsibility, he figures. Something about the situation has him looking at things differently now, possibly because everything feels as if it's tinged with impending doom. Jared's time here is limited now. Come this time next year, he'll be a married man and a father. It's depressing, to say the least.   
  
He came to college as an uncomfortable, awkward, self-conscious nerd and now? He doesn't have time to be shy and frightened of new things. Maybe he's just bitter, but now he just doesn't care. He doesn't care what people think about him. Who gives a flying fuck that he was debate team captain, or that secretly his favorite color is pink? Why does it matter that he has no social interaction skills, or that if he has is way, he'll never kiss another girl again. Who fucking cares? No one should, that's for damn sure because it's not their life, it's Jared's. So he doesn't care what people think about him. It doesn't matter.   
  
Apparently the husband and baby-thing has jaded him.   
  
He knows it's not right, but he resents the kid and it's not even born yet. However, Jared understands himself well enough to know that the second he sees the baby, he'll fall in love with it. He's kind of a sucker for cute and small, which babies own the corner market on. Plus, family is the most important thing in the world to him. This baby, he knows, will be his world, no matter how it came to be, or the havoc it wrecked prior to birth. Or how crazy its mother and her family is. The very same family he's being forced to marry into.   
  
But right now he's bitter and jaded and resentful and there isn't a thing in the world that can make him feel otherwise at the moment. It isn't so much as an epiphany, or a moment of clarity as Jared just realized that his life is pretty much over. Any plans he intended to make are done. His life will never be his again, it will always be formed and molded around that of his child and its mother. It's in that frame of mind that he comes to realize he just doesn't care.   
  
He doesn't have time to spare on wondering what other people think about him, or if he's offending people. People are always going to judge. Who cares if he offends people? People offend him all the time, and he deals with it and they can deal with it too. People are going to form their opinions, and that's just that. That much was obvious when he found out he knocked up Alexis; he'd seen the stares, and heard the whispers. He can't imagine what will be said when he comes back for Christmas. He knows without a doubt that the whole damn town will know. But what's the point in worrying over something that already happened? It's happened, it's done, and nothing can change the fact.   
  
  
“I just don't care,” he says out loud, looking up at the inverted image of Misha. He's on his back, sprawled out on Misha's bed head lolling off the end. Misha is in his computer chair, legs bent up and folded. He's got a plate full of waffles in his lap, and a pair of plastic safety goggles strapped to his face. The Playstation-cum-waffle iron still, on occasion, shoots sparks. When he'd first voiced his concern over this, Misha promptly informed Jared that the risks were worth the waffles.   
  
Spearing an entire waffle on a black spork stolen from the cafeteria, Misha blinks at him. “About what?”   
  
“Anything,” Jared replies, though that's a lie. “I don't know. People, what they think. I don't care.”   
  
“You believe yourself to be above opinion?” Misha asked, in his I'm Older Than You voice. “You truly don't care what people think?”   
  
Jared rolls onto his belly, and pushes the hair out of his face with the palm of his hand before replying. “Why should I?” he asks, opening his mouth in silent demand for waffle. Misha obeys as more on reflex than anything else, Jared thinks. “I wasted so much time caring and being nervous and self-conscious about everyone around me and why? Why should I care what they think? They don't know me, and even if they do, the only opinion that matters is mine.” And Misha's. He doesn't say that of course, because it sort of defeats the point he's trying to make. “I'm not even going to see them next year.”   
  
Misha's face is currently expressing an alarming mixture of interest and mania, a combination that Jared is appropriately wary of. “Spoken like a true egoist,” he replies.   
  
Jared snorts. “Hello kettle, my name is pot,” he tells Misha, because if anyone is an egoist, it's Misha, that's for damn sure. Misha grins, but doesn't deny it. “It's not about ego. I'm just sick of wasting my time trying to convince myself that I matter when I don't,” he spits out, his bitterness surprising himself. “And no one else does either. I'd done wasting my worry on other people.”   
  
Setting the waffles aside, Misha peels off the safety goggles, leaving a deep red indent between his eyebrows. “Jared,” he begins, folding his hands up in his lap. “I know you're stressing out and stuff... but are you okay?”   
  
“What?” Jared's head jerks up, and he looks at Misha in confusion. “I'm all right. I mean, I'm stressed out, but it's nothing I can't deal with.”   
  
Misha frowns at him. “You're not like...” he shifts in his seat, obviously uncomfortable. “You don't need to talk about anything?”   
  
“We are talking,” Jared reminds him, pushing himself up to sit properly.   
  
“Well,” Misha scratches his head, ruffling his hair all over the place. It's adorable and Jared has a not-so-inexplicable urge to kiss him. He looks away, feeling his cheeks redden as he forces himself to listen to whatever it is Misha is saying, “....just that all this talk of not caring makes me think that maybe... I mean, I just don't want you to... Shit. I'm not good at this. What I'm trying to ask is... you're not thinking about....” Misha sucks in a deep breath. “...hurting yourself or... or worse, right?”   
  
Jared stares at him for a long time, not moving in an inch save for blinking. “What?” He manages to sputter out. “Misha! I'm not suicidal.” The look of relief on Misha's face makes Jared feel guilty. Had he been acting that badly? “It's a baby, not a death sentence,” he tells his friend, and ignores the fact that he pretty much though the very same thing not five minutes ago. He can't even bring up the fact that he has to marry a girl, he just can't. “I just meant that I'm done caring what other people think about me.”   
  
“What brought this on?” Misha asks, throwing a whole waffle at Jared. “Other than the obvious, I guess.”   
  
Shredding his waffle into bits, he shoves them into his mouth, chewing to buy time. Swallowing them down, he shrugs. “I don't know. I mean, come this time next year, I'll be a whole other person. I might as well be me for as long as I can, and to do that, I have to stop worrying what other people think about me, or if they like me or whatever. And I don't. I just...I don't care anymore. They can all fuck off.”   
  
Misha looks at him with a calculating look, and a firm smirk. Jared realizes in that moment that Misha probably understands the concept of not caring what people think than most, given their previous conversation on the plane. “That just means the people who do like you matter more,” Misha tells him, and Jared thinks about Mike and how Mike is always there for Misha. Misha in turn, is always there for Jared. Misha is Jared's Mike.   
  
Clapping his hands together, Misha nods sharply. “Right,” he says, as if coming to a decision. “This requires testing.”   
  
“What requires testing?” Jared asks, suitably worried now.   
  
“Whether or not you really don't care,” Misha explains, grabbing his keys, cellphone, and wallet of his messy desk and shoving up out of the computer chair. “Come on, we're going to Jensen's.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Chapter One For Blanket Warning and Disclaimer

**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/) **

  
“---and you're a momma's boy.”   
  
“I've been called worse by better.”   
  
“Is it true you have a crush on Chad, Jared?”   
  
“You should wear a condom on your head, because if you’re going to act like a dick, you should probably dress like one.”   
  
“So, it says in your personal file you were debate team captain. I didn't realize you were a total geek.”   
  
“I could eat a can of alphabet soup and shit a better insult than that.”   
  
“That mole on your face freaks me out and your hair is stupid,” Mike says, from his sprawled-out perch on the shitty brown couch shoved in Jensen's room. Misha looks over to Jared in anticipation; if Jared can handle Mike, Tom and Jensen without blushing, getting flustered, or possibly bursting out into tears, he can handle anything.   
  
He'd brought Jared over for this explicit purpose; to be insulted in rotation by the guys. At first, Misha had been nervous. After all, what if Jared was depressed? Not that he'd been acting particularly depressed, just... bitter. But Jared is handling himself splendidly. Whatever it was that got into Jared, because for all that Jared claims he's fine, surely he cant be, it's seems to have harden him.  It's been going on like this for twenty minutes, each taking their turn to insult the freshman, and Jared has yet to crack.   
  
“Thanks, I grew them myself,” Jared replies with an easy grin, leaning back in the sagging recliner, hands tucked neatly behind his head in a pose of perfect ease. It makes Misha smile to see Jared so comfortable with his friends that it takes him a moment to realize that these are Jared's friends now too.   
  
It only makes him smile more.   
  
Tom makes a peevish sort of noise where he sits on the floor, mistreating a Wii remote. Tom is generally a pretty affable guy, but he can be downright rude when need be. “Pink shirts are for pussies.” He's also not afraid to insult homosexuals. Tom has explained that as most if not all of his friends are gay to some point, he's pretty much an Honorary Homo. Tom is pretty much as metro-sexual as they come, so they let the insult slide.   
  
“It's true, we can't all be secure enough in our masculinity to pull off pink. It's okay Tom, you look perfectly adequate in manly, manly blue.”   
  
Jensen snorts from his place at the table, half hidden behind stacks of books and neat piles of papers. Ah, the woes of a med-student, Misha thinks. Not everyone can be Sociology majors, after all. Giving Jared a once over, Jensen sneers. “You smell.”   
  
Laughing out right, Jared shakes his head. “Shut up, you love my musk.” Just to be contrary, he sniffs himself and grins. “That's the smell of Texas, but maybe you forgot.”   
  
Jen's mouth falls open for a moment, before he barks out a laugh of his own. “Congratulations Misha,” he says, shaking his head with a smile. “Jared's officially an asshole.”   
  
Misha watches as Jared's smile freezes slightly, melting off his face to form what Misha is sure is more of a bitter sneer than anything else, but it looks weird on Jared's face so maybe he's wrong.   
  
“Parenthood will do that to you,” he says, sinking back into the chair with a slow sigh. Misha is surprised; they hadn't told the guys about the baby situation. "My parents are making me get married."   
  
The stony silence that follows is cricket-chirping worthy. Misha wrecks it by clearing his throat because if there's one thing he can't handle it's silence. “Um,” he says, lacking all his usual wordy charm. “Yeah.” What else can he say?   
  
“Alexis?” Mike asks, surprising him. How the hell did Mike know about Alexis? He's suddenly filled with an abject sense of horror that only comes when one's best friends friend-up. Had he missed the budding relationship between Jared and Mike? Apparently he had, because they are sharing a look that just screams 'we have secrets'. He doesn't like it, no sir, not one bit.   
  
Jared grunts, his previous congeniality instantly slipping away into mopey anger with the grace of a well-practiced Bi-Polar pregnant woman. The mood wings are new, Misha recognizes, and seem to come more often when Jared is left to think too long on his own. Misha does what he can to distract Jared, going so far as to insist on studying.   
  
“----parents decided I'd marry her,” he catches Jared finishing the story with a tired sigh, except that's hardly where the story ends. “So this is my first and last year here. They're making me go back to the ranch.”   
  
Jared looks at Misha for some sort of confirmation, though what he's asking, Misha has no idea. Does he want an agreement? An extrapolation? Misha just nods and shrugs.   
  
Of course, these are his friends, and his friends are nothing if not nosy little shits. “They still do that?” Jensen asks, and Misha figures if anyone in the room understands Texas customs to knocking up teenagers, Jensen would be it. Not that Jensen knocks up teenagers, as far as Misha knows. But Jensen is the only other Texas boy in the room, and his parents did get married awfully young.   
  
Jared is not looking to Misha for any kind of encouragement now, though Misha kind of wishes he would. Because he would really like to tell Jared to shut up now. He can feel his face wanting to heat up, but goddammit he's too old to blush.   
  
Laughing, Jared shakes his head. “It's a small town. It's the right thing to do I guess. I knocked her up, and it's my responsibility to deal with it.” The response has become mechanical, almost. Like it doesn't even belong to Jared, which Misha supposes it really doesn't.   
  
Jared excuses himself for class, and promises Misha to meet up with him at the gym later, leaving Misha to his own silent contemplations.   
  


  
**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/) **

  
“Looks like you could use a spotter,” a familiarly accented voice came from above. Jared looks up from where he is sprawled out across the weight bench, to see Sebastian’s smiling face. “Fancy seeing you here.”   
  
Inexplicably, Jared blushes. He certainly hadn't intended to ever see that face before. “I...um. I just started coming here. Too cold to jog and all.” He gave Sebastian an answering grin. “But I haven't seen you here before. I normally come in the mornings.”   
  
“I wouldn't know,” Sebastian replies with a smirk. “I've only ever seen you come at night.”   
  
“But you just said----” Jared stops short, his blush doubling as he catches the innuendo. He's not good at flirting, really he's not. Hasn't exactly had a lifetime of experience for it. “God.”   
  
“Sebastian,” his new friend says in return, taking hold of the bar as Jared lifts. “Though I do so love it when you call me God, pet. Well, I prefer it over Misha, at any rate.”   
  
“Oh Christ,” Jared stammers, hands slipping on the bar. Sebastian catches it again, resettling it in Jared's palms. “I am so sorry about that. I don't----”   
  
“Oh do calm down,” Sebastian waves him off with a smile. It's rather disconcerting that this man is apparently friends with his friends. Sebastian knows Mike, and that in and of itself is worrying when, especially when Sebastian is so aware of Jared's big-homosexual-secret. What if he told Mike? Mike would definitely tell Misha, wouldn't he? Of course he would; Mike and Misha had been friends for years, by comparison Jared is more or less just a tag-a-long. “No hard feelings, I assure you. I doubt you’re the first freshman Misha has made question his sexuality. Have you heard about the week Jensen thought he was gay?” Jared didn't, but he makes a mental note to ask about that later. “But if you're still looking for confirmation, I'd be absolutely delighted to assist you in that regard. You don't even have to remember my name.”   
  
“Sebastian.”   
  
Embarrassing though it is to admit it, it takes Jared a moment to realize that the word had been spoken aloud, and not within his head. That was the problem when your conscious voice sounded a lot like Misha Collins.   
  
And when he realizes it at last, he's so horrified he can't even form words.   
  
This cannot end well.   
  
Jared's eyes flicker to catch Misha as he approaches up to the weight bench, coming to stand alarmingly close beside Sebastian. Jared continues to lift, panting slightly as sweat began to build on his brow. He watches Misha stare at Sebastian, hard and unblinkingly, the same way Jared had seen him do to unruly freshman and people who cut him off in line at Starbucks. Sebastian however, unlike other lowly peons, does not flinch. He simply continues to smile and spot Jared's lifts.   
  
“Misha darling, how are you? I see you're growing your hair out, lovely,” Ignoring the Misha-Stare-Of-Doom, Sebastian prattles on, giving Misha an up-and-down look. “It's truly lovely to see you. Mike talks about you all the time of course. Did you need something?”   
  
Misha makes a painful sounding snort, and Jared is sure his left eye twitches this time. This is the closest Jared has ever seen Misha lose his cool. It's patently obvious that Misha does not like Sebastian. “You left your phone at Jensen's,” Misha says, ignoring Sebastian entirely. Jared gives him a knowing smile. He'd realized his phone was gone halfway to class and assumed Misha had something to do with it. The man had skills, Jared could attest to that.   
  
Before Jared can respond verbally however, Sebastian is speaking once again. “Oh! You know this fine young gentlemen, do you?” He asks Misha, feigning ignorance, for which Jared is uncomprehendingly grateful. He hates the idea of lying to Misha, so he's decided to consider this a misinterpretation of the truth (which would probably amuse Misha to no end). “Jared! You did not mention you knew Misha.”   
  
“Uh yeah,” Jared replies, settling the bar back in place and curling up into a sitting position. It's still weird to have them both towering over him, though Misha doesn't really tower, even when Jared is sitting. “He's my... my best friend. I met Sebastian at that frat party I went to with Chad,” Jared adds, for Misha's benefit. He's oddly aware of the fact that Misha does not know Jared hooked up with Sebastian. It makes him feel guilty for reasons he can't explain. Suddenly he remembers what Mike said about Sebastian and how he didn't understand Misha, and didn't care for him. He feels inexplicably protective, as he swings his legs around far enough to brush Misha's knees. “It was nice to see you again Sebastian,” he says, in what he hopes is a dismissive tone.   
  
Sebastian seems to hear it, if his smirk is any indication and Jared is pretty much sure he won't like whatever comes out of Sebastian’s mouth. “Dismissed once again for Misha Collins, now isn't that familiar? No worries, Jared darling, the pleasure was mutual,” Sebastian leers, and Jared is sure he sees Misha twitch, but he can't be sure. “I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again. Misha,” he adds with a nod of his head.   
  
“Right,” Jared replies, not bothering to wait till the man leaves before turning to Misha. “Treadmill?”   
  
Misha is still glaring at Sebastian's retreating form as Jared tugs him along, eyes narrowed as he grinds his teeth. It's mildly concerning to see Misha truly disgruntled. They make their way silently over to the treadmills, where Jared watches in amused fascination as Misha pokes angrily at the buttons.   
  
“How can you be friends with him?” Misha asks, several awkward minutes of silence later. Jared is startled by his outburst, tripping slightly. “He's a douche-bag.”   
  
A long pause later, Jared turned to Misha, blinking. “Um.”   
  
His non-answer was hardly an inhibitor for Misha, who continues on as if Jared had said nothing. “You and Mike both,” Misha exclaimed, throwing up his hands. Jared felt that this was kind of unfair, as one drunken-hook up that Misha doesn’t even know about really doesn't compare to the full-fledged relationship Sebastian and Mike had shared. “I mean, he's not even that attractive. Okay, so he's foreign and the accent is kind of...whatever. He's a douche-bag and a horrible friend.”   
  
“You said that already,” Jared offers, helpfully.   
  
“It bears repeating,” Misha growls, poking a button on the treadmill harshly. His slow-jug picks up to a brisk sprint, and more out of guilt than anything else, Jared follows suit. “Seriously, he's a pushy bastard. How can you even stand him?”   
  
Confused and slightly hurt, as Misha had never really judged or chastised Jared on any of his other questionable choices, he shrugs. “He's not, really. We just hung out at a party--”   
  
“Which makes it so much worse!” Misha is honest-to-God angry now, as far as Jared can tell, red in the face and huffing, though that could very well be due to their fast-paced run. “He's even worse drunk! God, you can't really be friends with him.”   
  
Frowning now, Jared interrupts Misha's rant. “Like I said, we're not really friends. But you can't---.”   
  
“Then what does he think he's doing over here, acting like a perverted ass hole and hitting on you,” Misha slams back, jabbing another button on his treadmill. He reaches over with coordination that Jared envies, and speeds up Jared's treadmill too. “You're straight, and he should know better than to make you feel uncomfortable---”   
  
Not liking where the conversation is going, Jared slams the stop button so hard, he nearly falls flat on his face. “I think I can handle myself, Misha. If I was offended by random gay come-ons, do you think I'd be friends with Mike?” He hisses, nearly embarrassed by the mild scene Misha is causing. People are looking at him, and Jared has never been fully comfortable with that. He reminds himself that he doesn't care and turns back to Misha. “I don't know why you're so upset right now,” he begins carefully, because it's never a good idea to poke an angry Misha, he's sure.   
  
“I'm upset because you can't be friends with Sebastian!” Misha grouches. “He's a total douche-bag, Jared.”   
  
“He was actually really nice to me.” Really, really nice, but that really bear mentioning. “I would thank you not to tell me who I can and cannot be friends with, Misha. You don't own me.” Apparently his not-caring thing is limited to Misha because Jared is starting to care. What the hell is Misha's problem, and why is it a problem now. Misha's known about the Jared-and-Sebastian thing for weeks now!   
  
“Oh he was nice,” Misha drawls. “He's an idiot and---”   
  
“He was nice,” Jared repeats, firmly. In actuality, and all orgasms aside, Sebastian had been nice. He'd been totally understanding when Jared called him the wrong name and even made sure Jared got home safely. “Sebastian even called Mike to come pick me up, when he found him on my speed dial. I was trying to call you but I was uh... I was really drunk. Whatever. All I'm saying is that Sebastian isn't really my friend, but he was nice, and you have no right to tell me what to do,” he finished with an angry, breathless huff. “So drop it, please. This isn't like you, Misha.

 

 **[](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/) **

**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/) **

  
It doesn't take a genius to notice the tension, and Jensen, Tom and Mike are all of reasonable intelligence. Still, there isn't much that he can tell them. Misha isn't sure what caused the line between Jared and himself to be drawn so tight, but he's terrified of pulling, lest it break. Was it something he did, or just a culmination of many things (marriage, baby, dick, Sebastian, the fight ect)? On top of that, he's finding it harder to keep up with New Non-Caring Jared, who seemed hell bent on getting all his college experiences out of the way. It's December 6th, and they've been back for a week. In two more, it will be winter break and it's obvious to anyone with eyes that Jared is determined to go as wild as he possibly can before Christmas.   
  
Apparently step one is drinking in excess.   
  
“You're drunk,” Misha states, prying the slightly crunched-up plastic cup from Jared's hand. “That's enough of that.” Once again they're at a party hosted by Jensen's band, Chris, Steve and yet another nameless replaceable bass-player. Misha stopped learning their names four members back.   
  
“I am,” Jared agrees as he grapples for the mostly empty red cup. “Last time I was this drunk I----”   
  
“Jared!” Mike interrupts abruptly, slinging an arm over Jared's slouching frame. Misha hadn't even realized Mike was in the vicinity, having left him in the living room not so long ago with a bendy, bi-curious Anthropology major who could fit her whole fist in her mouth. “Padalecki! Jared. Jare. Jay. Baby Jay. Can I call you Baby Jay?”   
  
“S'not my name,” Jared replies with a shrug, reaching for his cup once more. He misses by about four inches, hitting Misha in the nipple instead. “Snot. Heh.”   
  
“No of course not,” Mike agrees amicably, pressing on as if Jared hadn't spoken. He's wearing lipstick, Misha notices. Not wearing as in some one kissed him and it transferred, but wearing as it clearly applied directly to his own manly mouth. Typical Mike; get drunk and dress in drag. Misha sighs when he realizes it's going to be one of those nights. “Did you know that Misha can suck his own----”   
  
“That's enough of that,” Misha cuts Mike off, punching him hard in the kidney.   
  
“His cock?” Jared asks, ignoring Misha. “Yeah, I caught him in his closet all upside down. Didn't see his dick then though. Not until----”   
  
“That's enough of that,” Misha repeats himself in a rush, slapping a hand over Jared's mouth but the damage is done and Mike isn't drunk enough to miss it.   
  
“You showed Jay your dick?” He asks, eyes bulging in his head. “When? Damn Mish! That's awesome! Why didn't you tell me? I'm so happy for you. I didn't know you guys were---”   
  
“We aren't!” Misha begins, but Jared is quicker, licking Misha's palm and interrupting in a slur.   
  
“Showed him mine first!” He says brightly, and much to loudly. “Then mama walked in.”   
  
Mike's face is bright with laughter, and he snorts unattractively. “His mom walked in on you two—-”   
  
“We weren't!” Misha deflects. “I was uh... I was showing him my piercing.”   
  
Mike is not entirely fooled. “What the hell was he showing you then, if his dick was out too?”   
  
“This!” Jared declares, dropping his pants and exposing his cock for all the kitchen to see. Luckily there's no one in the kitchen except Mike, Misha, Jared and some dude Misha thinks might be Tom passed out in the pantry. “Vodka makes me horny,” he announces, as if to explain why he's more than half hard already. “Alexis does not make me horny,” he adds on, reaching for his cup again.   
  
“Oh God,” Misha mutters mournfully because this just wasn't how he expected the evening to go. “Mike, help me pull up his pants.”   
  
“That's not how you do a threesome,” Mike replies, and Misha realizes that Mike is already more drunk then Misha thought. Only drunk Mike would talk about having a threesome with Misha. Misha is not drinking, having been forcibly declared Designated Driver tonight. “Ooh. Boy's a grower,” Mike says, reaching for Jared. “Oh wait, can I----”   
  
He's going to kill someone.   
  
“No you cannot!” Slapping Mike hard on the hand, Misha wrangles Jared's pants back up around his waist and bites back a pitiful whimper when his hand comes in contact with Jared's cock. Sure, he wants to get his hands on Jared's cock, but he'd prefer a willing if not sober Jared participating in the fun.   
  
Jared lets him, leaning back against the island counter behind him, elbows pressed against the chipped Formica top. “This isn't how I pictured this,” he slurs, poking Misha in the head with a finger.   
  
Misha honestly has no idea how to process that, so he doesn't. Instead, he does up Jared's pants, finds his left shoe (in the microwave), and proceeds to encourage Jared into back seat of his tuna-can of a car, Mike tottering on behind them.   
  
Chad's socked the door, a colorful striped toe sock that makes Misha wonder if he's in there with a dude. It wouldn't be surprising; this is college after all and as far as Misha can tell, Chad's sexuality is 'yes'. After pushing Mike into his room, Misha takes Jared back to his own room, and nudges him down onto the bed. It requires very little effort as Jared is wobbly and uncoordinated, tumbling down with a bounce onto the shitty, narrow mattress.   
  
“You got this out of your system yet?” Misha asks, tugging off Jared's one shoe and tossing it in the corner with the other. “'Cause I'm just not big enough to be carting your drunk ass around every night.”   
  
“Plenty big enough,” Jared replies, petting Misha's head like a particularly good puppy. Misha forces himself not to nuzzle that massive hand and ignores the comment. “Mish....”   
  
“It's alright Jared,” Misha cuts him off quickly, not willing to sit through any kind of drunken apology. “This is part of college. What do I say about partying? It's the original social networking, screw Facebook.”   
  
Jared doesn't reply, save for sleepily snuffling into Misha's pillow. It's going to smell like him, the whole damn bed will for weeks, and damn it, Misha knows he'll love every second of it.   
  
“Mish?” Jared mumbles out, just as Misha is making himself comfortable on a pile of clothes next to the bed. He peeks up over the bed's edge and finds himself face to face with Jared.   
  
“Yes?” He asks, cautiously. “What is it?”   
  
“You showed me your penis,” Jared says, blinking at him owlishly. His hair sticks up every which way and his cheeks are red. It's adorable and disturbing and Misha fights the urge to smother Jared with a pillow.   
  
“I did,” Misha confirms in a placating tone usually reserved for small children and smaller dogs. “And you showed every one yours.” It's not jealousy, it isn't. So, okay, maybe it is; he can't help it.   
  
Jared bumps their foreheads together and suddenly they're close, so close they're sharing breath. Misha is terrified for one moment that Jared is going to kiss him, it's a delightful kind of terror and he licks his lips in anticipation. “Only ever wanted it to be you” Jared murmurs, and falls back on the bed.   
  
Misha is left with a strange combination of disappointment and confusion. He knows he shouldn't be dissapointed; that he doesn't want Jared to kiss him while drunk and stupid. But what does Jared mean? 'Only ever wanted it to be you'. What the hell does that mean?   
  
He doesn't sleep well that night, his head pillowed on sweater-vests and yoga pants. He tosses and turns and gets hit once by Jared's flailing arm. He doesn't sleep well that night, but he does dream.   
  
  


  


  
**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/) **

  
  
He's dying. He's dying a horrific death full of pain and anguish. Everything hurts, hell, even his hair hurts. He can see The Light through his eyelids as he becomes aware, bright and burning. Oh God, he's dying. His head aches as if it's being hammered slowly with a thousand dull nails, each one tapping in through his skull with a dull and aching throb. He's dying now and something has already died, because it crawled into his mouth before it did so. He can tell by the taste; the rancid, foul, ass-tastic taste of death in his mouth.   
  
“Ah, you're awake.”   
  
Misha! If Misha is here, that means Jared is not dead. At least, he hopes it means he's not dead, because if Misha is here and Jared is dead, that means Misha is dead, and that's just not allowed. Thinking is hard and it makes his head hurt, so he tries to stop doing it, but trying to stop thinking seems to hurt just as much as thinking, so he stops doing that too.   
  
“Gah,” he manages out, mouth sticky and dry. He feels something cool press against his lips and swallows just as water floods his mouth. “Did I lick a port-a-potty?”   
  
Snorting, Misha replies with an audible smile. “Not that I recall,” he tells Jared. “You did put your shoe in the microwave but I don't feel like these are related.”   
  
“The microwave?” Jared echoes, feeling fuzzy. “Bio-molecular warfare,” he mutters out, and it makes vague sense, in a distant sort of way. He's sure it made sense at some point.   
  
“I think you're still drunk,” Misha concludes, tearing the blankets off Jared. Cold hits him fast and hard, and he curls into a ball instantly. “No, none of that. Rise and shine, it's morning time. Time to start the day! Plus we have to go rudely wake Mike after this.”   
  
“Fuck you and your mother,” is Jared's muttered reply. He buries his head under the pillow, only to have that stolen too. “Misha,” he whines, grabbing weakly at the pillow.   
  
Misha laughs and grabs his arm, tugging him straight off the bed. He lands on a pile of Misha's laundry, the scent of Misha hitting him in the face, not entirely unpleasant. It makes Jared's downstairs brain wake up much faster than his upstairs one, that's for sure. “Come on, Jared. Go take a shower, and then we'll go get breakfast.”   
  
“Oh God,” Jared groans, finally opening his eyes. “No food. Ever. Ugh.”   
  
Cackling, Misha shoves Jared into the bathroom, chucking a mostly clean towel at him before shutting the door.   
  
Freshly scrubbed and mildly awake, Jared stumbles out of the shower to find clean clothes, his own clean clothes, folded neatly on the toilet. The idea of Misha rummaging through his drawers is no longer a creepy one, but rather endearing, Jared realizes as he tugs on his boxers. They're the same one Misha stole all those months ago.   
  
Stepping out of the bathroom, he stumbles to a stop, surprised. Misha is there, holding Jared's cell phone a foot away from his ear as he winces. “Yes, ma'am,” Misha says loudly. “No, no. Here he is. Um. Jared... you have a call.”   
  
He already knows it's his mother, as he reaches for the phone with trepidation. “Hey Mama.”   
  
“Don't you Mama me, boy!” Sharon Padalecki screeches through the phone. “What do you mean you're not coming for Christmas! Of course you are! It's Christmas!”   
  
“I take it you got the e-mail,” Jared says tiredly, sinking down into Misha's computer chair. “I just figured since I'll be moving back at the end of the year, I'd spend what time I could here with my----”   
  
“Christmas is about family!” His mother interrupts him.   
  
Sighing, Jared agrees. “That's what I'm afraid of.”   
  
“Baby.” His mother's tone loses its sharp edge instantly. “I know... I know that the situation isn't what you want, honey. And I am rooting for you, I swear to Lord I am. But there's just no talking sense to your daddy, and those Bledel's are twice as bad. But this is the last Christmas I'm gonna get to see you as my baby. Then you're gonna go off and have babies of your own, and I'm just not ready to let you go, honey. Please come home.”   
  
He bites his lip and looks up at Misha who is steadfastly trying to look as if he can't hear what's being said four feet away from him. “I'm bringing Misha,” he says, not bothering to form it as a question. It's not a question; Misha comes or Jared doesn't.   
  
  
“I... baby,” his mother begins and it's then that Jared remembers what she think she saw. “I don't know---”   
  
No matter what she saw or thought she saw, Jared is not going to Texas without Misha. “I wasn't asking what you know,” Jared says harshly, earning a sharp breath in reply. “Y'all are asking me to get married! Don't think I don't know what's waiting for me come Christmas morning. What, are you going to slap a bow on ‘Lexi's belly and call it gift wrapped too? You're asking me to get married and all I'm asking is that Misha be there. I won't come without him.”   
  
“All right,” his mama concedes. “All right.”   
  
The wrap up their call with a stilted and awkward good bye. Ending the call, Jared turns to Misha, meaning to ask where they're going for Christmas, but what comes out of his mouth is entirely different.   
  
“I want to get my dick pierced.”   
  
Huh.

 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Chapter One For Blanket Warning and Disclaimer

**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/) **

  
“This is a terrible idea,” Misha says, certainly not for the first time. He's tried valiantly to force the fact into Jared's skull, bashing it verbally against his ear drum every thirty-eight seconds or so. Jared's not listening, of course, and that Misha should be anyone's voice of reason is absurd. He's half tempted to call in Mike, who has reasoning skills unparalleled. “Terrible.”   
  
“You did it,” Jared replies cheekily, from Puncture, the tattoo and piercing shop nearest to campus. Jared has flashed his license, and filled out the appropriate paper work. Now all there is to do is wait and try to talk the fucker out of it.   
  
“And I'm not exactly a cornucopia of good thinking!” Misha throws up his hands. “Seriously, this is a terrible idea.” `   
  
Jared refuses to be talked out of this terrible idea, however. “No see, it's the perfect plan. This way when our parents no doubt find some way to force Alexis and I together on our wedding night, I'll have an excuse not to---” Jared shudders in surprising revulsion. Misha doesn't get it; Alexis is pretty. Maybe it's the pregnancy thing. “---sleep with her.” Jared finishes.   
  
“They can't make you,” Misha replies, and he's ninety percent sure it's true. But hell, he doesn't know what them rednecks get up to. There could be some ritual bovine marital slaughter he doesn't even know about. “They can't, right?”    
  
“Of course not,” Jared waves him off. “And I'm not going to, but it will be expected. This way when Alexis complains,” Jared says it as if it's inevitable and having met the girl, Misha agrees, “I'll have a reason to not consummate this horror for....” He glances at the pamphlet. “Six to eight weeks. Oh! This one takes twelve to heal. That's the one you have, right? What do you recommend?” And Dear God, this is nothing like the Jared that Misha met months ago, who blushed and stammered and could barely form a sentence. His baby ostrich is all grown up and wants to get his cock pierced.   
  
  
“Pada... something?” The tattoo guy interrupts from the counter. “You're up, kid.”   
  
“Um, right. Mish?” Jared asks, looking down at him imploringly. “You're coming, right?”   
  
Apparently he is.   
  
The room is the same white, sterile thing Misha had been shoved in when he'd come to do this. Decorated sparsely with a few tattoo flash-boards, and many posters of proper care and handling of genital piercings, Misha tries to look anywhere but the life-like drawings of sacks and shafts. Jared sits on the big medical table, and Misha takes the chair.   
  
“I'm Mark Pellegrino,” the tattoo guy says with a wide, white grin, but the name tag on his leather vest reads Lucifer. It certainly doesn't bode well, Misha things. “And I'll be jabbing the needle today. Where shall I be stabbing?”   
  
Jared doesn't quite blush, but he shifts a bit where he's sitting. “My uh... my dick. I was thinking... um. Well, Misha has a Prince Albert,” Jared explains, and Misha chokes a little to be referenced so baldly. “I was thinking about doing the same. Or just the frenum. But um, I'm not... cut, so I don't know what piercing is recommended for that.”   
  
Mark stares at Jared long enough that Misha wants to punch him. “Whip it out, big boy. I'm going to need to see it. Every dick is different, and all.” Mark turns to Misha, and snaps his fingers. “You, help your boy get it up. I need to see how the skin sets.”   
  
With twin sounds of surprise, both Misha and Jared reply.   
  
“He's not gay.”   
  
“He's not my boyfriend.”   
  
“Um,” Misha clears his throat. “He's neither gay nor my boyfriend,” he explains, confused why Jared wouldn't defend his heterosexuality first. Well, maybe it isn't a big thing to Jared. He does spend an awful lot of time around people with gay persuasions. “So I will not be helping with that.”   
  
“I uh... I can do it,” Jared cuts in awkwardly. “You know, if you all stop staring at me for a minute.”   
  
Mark looks down at Jared's lap and grins. His jeans are still done up, but he is sporting a little tent. Ah, to be eighteen and get wood when the wind blew right. “I don't know, I think you like it. Boy's a grower,” he comments, and Misha makes a pained noise.   
  
“Why does every one keep saying that?” Jared asks, and then groans, slapping a hand to his face. “Oh dear God, I showed Mike my dick last night.”   
  
“And he quite enjoyed it,” Misha replies dryly, as Mark tinkers around the room, pulling on a pair of purple rubber gloves.   
  
“It doesn't need to be completely hard, just hard enough to give me an idea,” Mark explains, and Jared complies easily enough, zipping his pants down without question. Misha thinks that if Jared is going to be this easy, he's going to have to limit the boy's interaction with Mike.   
  
The long drawn out ziiiiiip all but echoes in the little room. That sound would forever be the death of Misha, who is forced to drop the stack of pamphlets into his lap.   
  
“Lean back,” Mark instructs Jared as Misha looks on. “That's right, you can prop yourself up on our elbows if you want to watch me in action. This is going to be a little cold,” is all the warning any of them get before Mark takes Jared's cock in his unprofessional hand.   
  
Jared yelps, curling up a bit and Misha watches in interest at the way the muscles in his stomach twitch and jerk. “Eh, you're firming up quite nicely kid,” Mark says, giving Jared an entirely unprofessional stroke. “Right well, I can already see that the Prince is not for you. Foreskin is too tight,” he explains, giving said foreskin a tug. Jared makes a pained sound, his cheeks aflame, and Misha is ready to punch someone. Obviously Jared is uncomfortable! “Personally that's how I prefer it, but not ideal for a piercing. Here,” Jared squeaked again and Misha pushes out of his seat, ready to elbow check the guy out of the way and guard Jared's loins with his life. Mark has Jared by the balls, thumb pressing into the base. “This is called a lorum, ideal for dudes with foreskin. You could also do a frenulum, under the head here----” Mark makes to explain just exactly where a frenulum goes, but Misha cuts him off.   
  
“He knows what a frenulum piercing is,” he barks, scowling. “What do you think, Jared? Just the lorum?”   
  
“Healing time?” Jared squeaks as Mark releases his cock. He clears his throat. “Um. Healing time?”   
  
“Same as the frenulum,” Mark replies, his voice far more professional then his god damn hands were. “Although, with the frenulum, you have to wait a bit longer before you can start having sex due to sensitivity. The lorum, as it's not covered by a condom, is more at risk of becoming infected. They both have their pros and cons. What will it be?”   
  
Jared looks to Misha for some sort of answer but the boy got himself into this so he's on his own. He shrugs, forces himself back into the seat and tries not to stare at Jared's dick.   
  
Jared shifts again, practically wriggling on the table, pants around his knees. “Um. Both?”   


** [ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/) **

This is a terrible idea. Terrible. What the hell is he thinking?   
  
Well, it's a bit late to call off the dogs without looking like a total wuss. And also, he's really not prepared to deal with the smug look Misha will no doubt give him for the next millennium should he back out now.   
  
So he doesn't protest, not even when Mark cops a feel and slams a needle through his dick.   
  
“Holy mother of assfuck,” is what comes out of his mouth, and yeah that's kind of embarrassing.   
  
Misha snorts. “I'm not sure there is a maternal effigy for butt sex,” he comments, mildly but with a twitching half-smile. “You should ask Mike. I think he minored in religious studies for a minute. And he's majored in butt sex for mot his life so he ought to know.”   
  
Jared had planned on replying, something biting and suitably witty but instead he yowls as Mark wastes no time slamming a second needle through what is practically his ball sack. Terrible, terrible idea. Why hadn't he listened to Misha? He normally listens to Misha. Fuck.   
  
When all is said and done and his junk, as Misha likes to refer to it, is now doubly decorated, Mark directs him toward the washroom, shoving a hand full of individually-wrapped alcohol pads at him. “Go wash the blood off, kid. Don't want that shit drying in your sack-pubes.”   
  
He catches Mark looking at his ass through the washroom mirror just as he closes the door. The room's not soundproof, and he can hear the conversation between Misha and Mark quite clearly.   
  
“Are you sure you’re not hitting that?” Mark asks boldly. Curious, Jared's hands pause as he awaits Misha's answer.   
  
“I already told you! Jared is straight,” Misha growls. Jared can just imagine the scowl on his face. “Texas-boy straight. He's getting married in a few weeks, has a kid on the way.”   
  
“Man,” Mark drawls, sounding disappointed. “But I'd love to get him in my back room. Bend him over a table and get right into him.”   
  
Oh God, Jared might be gay but he's not used to this. Hearing himself objectified in such a manner makes his skin feel too tight, too jittery. Mark wants to fuck him. Mark is not unattractive, quite hot actually. Jared hadn't noticed though, not with Misha in the room. His cock makes a valiant twitch, but it's taken a beating today and is down for the count.   
  
“Yeah well he wouldn't let you,” Misha snaps, is anger audible. “Again, Jared is straight! Plus... even if he wasn't, which he is,” Misha repeats for emphasis. “He'd be a top.”   
  
Inexplicably guilty now, Jared is pretty sure that Misha is wrong on both accounts. He really needs to tell Misha. He doesn't know why he hasn't, it's not a big deal really. Misha won't care, he tells himself for the forty fifth time. He'll tell him, he will. Maybe during Winter break.   
  
Really though, Jared knows why he just can't tell Misha--because he wants Misha to want him, and hiding behind heterosexuality is protecting him from rejection. Misha can't shoot him down if he never knows how Jared feels. It isn't like Jared couldn't tell him he was gay without confessing his feelings. What if Jared told him, and Misha showed absolutely no interest in Jared? That's just as good as an outright rejection in his book. He knows it's not right, but in a few weeks it won't even matter. He'll be married and miserable, and Misha will never be his.   
  
Washing his hands, Jared zips up and heads out. “I'm done,” he announces, wincing a little as he walks.   
  
Mark hands him an informational pamphlet, about a billion little packets of sample ointment stuff and a list of do-and-do-nots printed on neon pink paper. “Wash your junk daily, no sex for a week, and remember; don't be a dork, always wrap your pork.” He slaps Jared on the ass as a finisher and sends them both out the door.   
  
“So....” Jared begins, but really he's not sure what to say.   
  
“Proud of yourself?” Misha asks, smirking up at him. “Everything you expected.”   
  
“It wasn't so bad,” Jared argues, but it's a total lie. It really, really was.   
  
“Sure,” Misha agrees sarcastically. “Wait till it scabs.”   
  
Making a face, Jared tries not to twitch. “Ugh. Let's just go back to the dorms.”   
  
“Fine,” Misha laughs, as they squeeze into his car. “We can stop for food on the way.”   
  
“And ice,” Jared asks, biting his lip as Misha hits a pot hole. “Lots of ice.”   
  
“And lots of ice,” Misha echoes, not even bothering to smother his laughter, the jerk.   
  
They settle into Misha's room quickly and comfortably. Jared spends so much time here he has his own random pile of clothing in the corner. He still sleeps in his own dorm room, unless of course he's been drinking. Misha is cross-legged in his computer chair, letting Jared sprawl out on his bed. He always lets Jared take the bed, possibly because it's the only place Jared can sprawl out.   
  
His current sprawl includes a sack full of ice on his nether regions and some questionably cheap beef lo mien. At a $1.99 though, he doesn't ask questions. Instead he orders two, and eats half of Misha's as well. He's a growing boy, after all.   
  
“Woah, I know Misha's got a tight ass but is the ice necessary? I hear Vaseline is better for chaffing anyway, Baby Jay” Jensen says, as he blusters his way into Misha's room, dropping down into Mike's smelly bean bag. Jared bristles at the nickname.   
  
The joke, whatever it was, has apparently gone over Jared's head, but judging from Misha's scowl, it's something perverted. “Shut it, Jenny. Baby Jay got his wang pierced,” Misha explains with his typical wicked, unsympathetic grin, handing Jensen a spring roll.   
  
“Lose a bet?” Jensen asks, with a commiserating look. “I know how that goes---”   
  
“Oh no,” Misha cuts Jensen off at the knees, and Jared groans, hiding his face behind the bend of his elbow, beef lo mien momentarily forgotten. “Boy-o thought it would be a good idea to get his twig and berries pierced all on his own.”   
  
“Twig and berries?” Jensen echoes, those green-gold eyes of his going wide. “You got your nut sack pierced!? Show me.”   
  
  
“What?!”   
  
It's not Jared who voices he question, but Misha.   
  
“Oh come on,” Jensen wheedles. “You've already shown Misha and Mike your man-bits, don't leave a brother feeling left out, Baby Jay.”   
  
“How do you know about that?” Jared asks, turning to look at Misha. “How does he know about that? And stop calling me that!”   
  
“We run in a tight circle,” Misha replies, unrepentant. “There are no secrets.”   
  
Instantly Jared feels guilty yet again. “Fine,” he allows, only because he has secrets. He has Big Secrets. Unzipping his pants, he ignores Misha's protest, and lets his dick flop out, sad and soft and abused. He doesn't think he'll be raising barns any time soon.   
  
He flushes a bit when Jensen tilts his head to get a better look at the lorum piercing, eyes squinting upon inspection. “Are you sure you're straight?” Jared asks, propping himself up on his elbows. “Because Roche told me there was this week that you were in love with Mi----”   
  
Jamming his fingers into his ears, Misha clamps his eyes shut. “La la la la, can't hear this! Can't hear this! Not hearing this! La la la la.”   
  
“Whats his problem?” Jared asks in surprise.   
  
Jensen snorts, freckles lost in his blush. “He uh... he pretends that never happened. Not that anything happened!” Jensen protests, like any respectable straight man would, Jared figures. “But he's very against friends dating friends. He says it ruins things.”   
  
Swallowing around a big lump of devastation, Jared nods. “Oh. I guess that----”   
  
“Is this an orgy?” Tom asks warily from the door, hand over his eyes. And what the hell is this? Visit Misha day? “If this is an orgy, I'm leaving. I know you've been showing people your cock, Baby Jay, but I could have lived without seeing it.”   
  
“For fuck’s sake, stop calling me that,” Jared grumbles, tucking his tender member away. “Seriously.”   
  
Laughing, Misha leans over to pat Misha on the shoulder. “Look at the bright side. Every one's seen your junk! That's like a right of passage around us. You're officially one of the guys.”   
  
He has friends, friends he's made on his own that like him just as he is; weird, goofy, nerdy, gangly and uncoordinated. It makes him smile for all of ten seconds before he realizes that it won't last

 

 

  


**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/) **

**  
**

  
“Hey Mish?” Tom and Jensen catch him after class, just as he's dumping his books off at the dorm.   
  
“What's up guys?” He asks distractedly, as he gathers his gym things. He plans on getting there before Jared, as obviously Jared cannot be left alone at the gym without attracting unwanted attention. “I'm headed to the gym to meet----”   
  
“Jared. Yeah we know,” Tom rolls his eyes, giving Misha a fond smile. “Actually, we wanted to talk to you about Jay.”   
  
“What about him?” Misha asks warily, hands pausing where they’ve been shoving clean-ish, mis-matched socks into his bag. “What’s up?”   
  
“Well, he told us that his parents are probably going to make him get married over Winter Break,” Jensen says, scratching nervously at the back of his neck. “And we know he'll be coming back to finish out the year, but the thing is...”   
  
“We want to be there,” Tom say, his typical arrogant machismo melting away to reveal is actual sensitive nature. As Misha has always claimed, Tom has always been their Doctor Phil, no matter what a dick he can sometimes be. “We want to be there for him, you know? We're his friends, and we don't want to leave him hanging on his...uh...his begrudging wedding day.”   
  
“Plus we're obligated to throw him a bachelor party, right?” Jensen adds, more for levity than anything else. Something to break up the unmanly moment they seem to be sharing. “So...can you ask him?”   
  
“Me?” Misha's not really surprised, he supposes. Friends thought hey all may be, Jared belongs to Misha and he just dares anyone to question that. “Uh, yeah. I guess I could do that. Hey, what about Mike?”   
  
“His mom's new boyfriend is a super Jew,” Tom says with a sigh. Misha would be more offended, except that Mike and his family are actually Jewish and Tom probably means nothing offensive by this. “He's full on kosher-ing it up this year, and Mike is more or less obligated to attend. Which blows because Hanukkah lasts like a billion years.”   
  
“Eight days,” Jensen corrects, dutifully. “But Mike can't come. He's pretty pissed too. Anyway, ask Baby Jay if we can come.”   
  
Misha snorts, watching as they disappear down the hall.   
  
  
Due to the hold up with Jensen and Tom (or due to the fact that Misha drives like a grandma) Jared is not alone when Misha gets to the gym. Sebastian is there, yet again, lazily spotting and watching as Jared's newly formed muscles bulge and pull. \ Misha loathes him.   
  
“Baby Jay,” he says, somewhat spitefully. “The boys want to know if they can come to your... er, Christmas Party.”   
  
“My what?” Jared asks, missing Misha's meaning. He's panting a little, sweat beading prettily at the curve of his brow. He looks like a jock like this, splayed out on a weight bench, pretty and stupid. Misha, of course, knows better than to believe the picture as it's painted. Still, it's a pretty picture.   
  
“Your Christmas party,” Misha replies, pointedly. “The one your parents are throwing with Alexis. The guys want to know if they can come. They want to be there.” He doesn't know if Jared wants it released for public knowledge that he is to be a married man. It's not Misha's secret to tell, so he won't. He takes a moment to feel special that Sebastian probably doesn't know and Misha totally does. So... ha.   
  
Jared pauses, racking the bar. He sits up, pulling the hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his brow. Both Misha and Sebastian sigh and stare, and Misha is so distracted he can't even scowl at Sebastian for it. “Really?” Jared asks, looking at Misha in surprise. “Hey Sebastian, I'll catch up with you later, yeah?”   
  
Sebastian sighs petulantly. “I suppose. I know when I'm not wanted. Still, you know how much fun I can be at a party....”   
  
Jared blushes, and Misha's eyes narrow. “Not that kind of party,” Jared mumbles, and waves Sebastian off. “Anyway, they really want to come?”   
  
“Yes really,” Misha rolls his eyes. “They're your friends. Plus they want to throw you a pre-party party,” Misha explains. It doesn't make much sense, but Jared seems to get it, eyes going even wider. “Mike will probably be able to make it too, but we haven't asked.”   
  
“Shouldn't they spend it with their families?” Jared asks, innocently. “I mean I don't want to keep them---”   
  
“Jared,” Misha says patiently, “they asked if they could come. They want to be there. Give them that, yeah? Plus Jensen's from Texas, so it's no hardship for him. And Tom is from Cambridge, it's like a four hour drive. He gets home all the time. Think your mom will be cool with it?”   
  
“Don't think she has a choice,” Jared says, a grin forming on his dimpled face. “I'll call her tonight. We have a guest house anyway. It's not very big but—-”   
  
“You have a guest house?” Misha asks, in revulsion. “You rich, rich white boy. The poor, college hipster in me is just disgusted.”   
  
“You're not poor, your parents vacation nude in the Bahamas!” Jared laughs, punching Misha lightly in the hip.   
  
“They're vacationing naked in Jamaica, but I see your point,” Misha concedes.   
  
  
“It's more like a cottage anyway, but there are two rooms and the couch pulls out. I think we use to rent it out to one of the ranch hands.” He shrugs, nonchalant as he takes a drink from his waterbottle. “You can bunk with me again, and the guys can take the cottage.”   
  
Misha has no protest with that.   
  
  
They drive, which is a horrible idea to begin with considering Misha is the only one with any sort of viable ride, if a '99 Ford Focus hatchback can be considered viable. They cram what they can in the limited trunk space and shoddily attach the rest to the roof with a clever combination of duct tape, saran wrap and bungee cords. Only one injury is sustained via the bungee cords which Jensen takes like a man by sobbing quietly into a bag of Doritos while holding a tepid bottle of Gatorade to his bruised jaw.   
  
“Alright,” Tom says, in his no-nonsense-take-charge-tone he when preparing to become a true dick-tator. “The trip takes exactly twenty-four hours in driving time. If we take three hour shifts in rotation, switching eight times with each of us driving twice, with a fifteen minute rest between shifts, and four half hour food-stops, it'll take us....twenty-eight hours.”   
  
Misha, Jared and Jensen all share a look of sleepy disinterest. “Whatever. You can drive first,” Misha says, and waits half a second for Jensen to call shot gun. He feigns a grumbled pout before squeezing himself into the back seat with a scrunched up Jared. Misha takes up hardly any room but Jared is all legs. “Come on, get your gams up here,” he gives in after a long moment of watching Jared fidget. He slaps his thighs expectantly.   
  
“Gams?” Jared echoes with a mocking smirk, but he's already bending his knees and stretching out as much as he can on the little bench seat. Misha catches Jared wince, and quietly hands him a fairly cold can of Pepsi. “Uh... I'm not thirsty?” Jared says, taking it anyway. Misha gives Jared's crotch a pointed look, and Jared's mouth falls open with an 'oh' when he finally gets it. “Thanks.”   
  
Sadly, no thanks are needed. Misha has succumbed to a point of desperate lowness that later on he's going to drink that soda and savor the fact it was on Jared's dick. He's a sad, sad person.   
  
  
  


  
**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/) **

  
It's a long, long, long, long trip.   
  
Did he mention that it's long? Yeah. It's long.   
  
It's long, and Misha's car is tiny, and dudes get rank in small spaces fast. Still, it's the best thirty (despite Tom's plan) hours that Jared has spent in a long time. Folded up in the backseat with Misha is both a blessing and a curse. It's been a few weeks, and his piercings are fairly healed. It certainly wasn't hurting, whatever Misha thought, handing him that Pepsi. In fact, it was rather the opposite. Now he was over sensitized, and if he thought he got hard easy before, well it was nothing compared to now.   
  
So he's forced to snuggle up to Misha with an insistent boner. Which is both horrible and awesome in equal amounts. Worse though is driving, seat crammed forward till his knees are practically brushing his ears. He could probably steer with his cock.   
  
“Jensen!” Misha from the passenger seat. “I swear to God, I'm going to kill you.” Logically, considering his size, Tom should have taken the passenger seat, but Misha was insistent that he be given time to stretch his legs. Jensen is shoved up behind Jared, doing his best to take up as little room as possible, but at six feet it's a no-go.   
  
“Why---” It hits Jared mid-sentence and he struggles to lower the windows. “Oh God! My mouth was open and everything.” It's awful, like a combination of bad eggs and beer farts. Tom is physically gagging, sucking in great big gasps of air through the open window. “How the hell did you know it was Jensen?” Jared manages to ask when at last the air is clear, a frigid December breeze chilling their skin.   
  
“After four years of knowing the bastard,” Misha begins, shivering as he rolls his windows up, “I know.”   
  
“You can identify me by fart?” Jensen pipes in, head peaking between the front seats. “Aw, Misha! That's so sweet.”   
  
“I hate you,” Misha grumbles, shoving Jensen's head back with a laugh.   
  
Farts and boners aside, it's like Jared said before--the best time he's had in a while.   
  
  
“Jared!” His mother cries from the drive-way. She hadn't been happy to hear they'd be driving, and that there would be four of them. Still, she pulls him into a tight hug, reaching up to grab his face and embarrass him thoroughly. “Misha,” she adds, giving Misha a slightly awkward smile.   
  
“Mom,” he grumbles, blushing as Tom and Jensen snicker at him.   
  
“Come, come. I've made lunch, and the guest house is all made up for your friends. You boys must be hungry,” she adds, patting Jared on the stomach fondly. “My baby's a growing boy.”   
  
“Mom.” Dear God, just let the world swallow him whole.   
  
“Oh hush,” his mother says, though it did little to mollify him. “Let me baby you...while I can.”   
  
“Sweet digs,” Jensen says, whistling through his teeth as they dumped off the luggage in the cottage. Jared just shrugs, his mother’s words leaving him bitter once again, as he shows them the rooms.   
  
“I'm not sure how stocked it is,” Jared adds, eying the fridge warily. “But we can go to town tomorrow, and you guys can eat at the main house.” He can hear his mama ringing the lunch bell. “We should head up. Don't know about you, but I just want to eat, shower and crash.”   
  
Trekking back to the main house, they are all mutually sleepy and silent. There are others in the kitchen, seated around the long oak table, but Jared pays them no mind. Kissing his mother on the cheek, he sits at the counter.   
  
“Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends, Jared?” His dad asks, and Jared steadfastly ignores the hurt in his father’s voice. Jared doesn't really want to talk to him.   
  
“This is Jensen Ackles and this is Tom Welling,” Misha says for him, pointing to the appropriate friend “We're all R.A.'s in Jared's dorm. Guys, this is Gerry Padalecki.”   
  
Jared can see his father’s eyes narrow in thought as he sets down his sandwich, folding both his weathered hands together. “Aren't you boys a bit old to be hanging out with freshman?”   
  
“We were all freshman once,” Jensen says with a shrug, but Jared can see that he's tense. Jensen lets his Texas twang slip out a little more freely, and for that Jared is grateful. He sees his father waver, if not melt.   
  
“Besides, Jared is way more mature then most the freshman we deal with,” Tom adds, diplomatically, flashing a big, white smarmy smile. His parents, of course, eat it up. “Hasn't given us any trouble. You've got yourself a good boy, Mr. Padalecki.”   
  
His dad smiles a bit, looking distant. “That I do.”   
  
Lunch eaten, and stomach full, Jared stands up, stretching pointedly. “I think we're all going to crash for a bit. We're a few hours behind you and all. Gotta acclimate,” he tells his mother, in the kitchen.   
  
“Alright baby,” she replies, taking their plates. “I made sure to put lots of big fluffy towels in your bathroom, and the cottage,” she says brightly, but Jared catches the way her hands are curved over the edge of the counter-top, holding on so tight, her knuckles are white.   
  
“You all go on,” he says, waving Jensen and Tom off as they slip out the back door. “You can have first shower, Misha.”   
  
“Thanks,” Misha murmurs, catching the subdued atmosphere as he makes his way toward the stairs. Jared watches him go till he's gone entirely.   
  
“Misha's not staying in the guest house sweetie?” His mom asks, arms immersed to the elbows in soapy water.   
  
“Why would he?” Jared asks, confused.   
  
“Well there are three beds, baby. I thought he would be more comfortable then curling up on the floor. We really should consider getting an air mattress,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. It will hardly matter to Jared.   
  
He can't tell her that Misha doesn't sleep on the floor, hasn't since the big marital announcement. So instead he shrugs. “The floor is probably more comfortable then the fold-out.”   
  
“Alright baby,” she says in a breath, hands shaking. He has no idea what's upset her, save for that it's most certainly his fault.   
  
“I'm sorry mama,” Jared says, pulling her into a tight hug, water sploshing across the glossy hardwood floors. He realizes he's grown some, from the way her head fits just under his chin. “I'm sorry,” he repeats. He hasn't been very nice, and she's the only one rooting for him, little good though it does. “I know this isn't easy for you, and I'm not making it easier. I'm just... I'm sorry.”   
  
“I don't want to lose my baby yet,” she trembles. “You're off having a baby, and I know it's selfish of me to say, but I'm not ready for that. God, don't doubt I'll love it, 'cause I will. But...you're my baby.”   
  
“You're forgetting Megan,” Jared says with a soft laugh, rubbing her back. This has been hard on her.   
  
“Oh pff. She doesn't let me baby her,” his mother says with a huff. “She hasn't been my baby since the second grade when Frankie Nerkin pulled her hair, and she punched him square in the mouth. But you... you've always been my baby boy. Jeff has always been your daddy's boy, but second sons are for mothers.”   
  
He'd stayed for a bit, talking to his mother; mindless empty things that held no real meaning. They needed that, a moment of complete innocence. Still, it doesn't mean he didn't notice the thick red, tattered notebook, tiny fabric swatches peeking out the side. It's the horrid and rushed wedding book, he's sure of it. He's struck with the inexplicable urge to force it down the garbage disposal.   
  
He finds Misha already asleep in bed, hair damp against the pillow. Giving his friend a silent smile, he slips into the bathroom. It's still damp, windows streaked with condensation, and perhaps it's only Jared's imagination, but it still smells of Misha and his funky blueberry shampoo. He would never tell anyone, but he knows for a fact that Misha's mother buys it for him, slipping it into the laundry basket when Misha manages to make it home to do laundry.   
  
It's the little things like that, that make Misha seem more real to him. He's not the elusive, eclectic, awe-inspiring guy Jared had met so many months ago. Horrid first and second encounters aside, Jared had found himself hero-worshiping Misha quite quickly.   
  
But now? Now he feels like he might be on even ground with Misha, and it's a good place to be.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Chapter One For Blanket Warning and Disclaimer

** [ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/) **

  
Misha wakes octopused in long, muscled arms. It's been quite some time since he's had a morning-after, and really he should know something is off, but he doesn't. He's bleary eyed and still half asleep, so he smiles into the embrace, snuffling and snuggling down further. There is a hard line of cock nestled snug between his ass-cheeks, and while he doesn't usually care to bottom, it's a decidedly wonderful feeling after such a long dry spell. If only he could remember that dry spell while half asleep, this particular encounter would surely make more sense.   
  
He does what any half-sleep, horny twenty-something would do; he pushes back into it. Instantly, a hand cups his hip, massive and sprawling, pulling him tighter against that rock hard line of cock, and God it's good. It's good, but it's not great; he needs a hand on his cock badly, and his own will certainly do.   
  
It's when he's trying to wriggle his hand free from beneath his pillow that he opens his eyes fully, sun blinding him momentarily. The room swims to focus and reality hits him hard. Misha scrambles off the bed, hitting his hard dick on the edge of the mattress with a painful gasp. He trips himself in the sheets as he hauls ass toward the bathroom.   
  
Oh God, but that was bad. He feels like the crack of his ass has been branded by Jared's cock, leaving a permanent impression he will feel forever. And Jared's hands! God, he should forget those, he really should, but he can't and he won't. They were huge and soft, curving over Misha, fingers pressing into the jut of his hip bone, a sharp, delicious pain to contrast all the nnnngh.   
  
His dick is insistent, demanding attention now. Misha would like to say that he willed his cock down, thought clean thoughts, and didn't take advantage of the Jared-scent still clinging to his skin. However, if he said as much, he'd be lying. He's almost ashamed at the speed of which his pants are around his ankles. He's so fucking hard, pre-come sticky in his palm at the first stroke. He's got his back against the bathroom door, head thunking a little against the white painted wood as he fucks into his own fist.   
  
He hasn't had this kind of violent, needy wank in a long while. Sure, he's been having them off the wrist way more than usual, but normally it's slow and paced. He likes to work into those kind of things. If you’re going to be so indulgent as to pleasure yourself, you should do it right, after all. But not this time. This time is wrought from sheer desperation and morning wood.   
  
And Jared. Always Jared.   
  
He fists his cock, letting his dry palm scrape over the wet head, the line of metal catching at his fingers and it's good, it's real good.   
  
“Mish?”   
  
Jared's voice cuts through the door, thick and raspy with sleep. It's just rough enough to sound sexy, and Misha shivers. Which are inappropriate since Misha just practically reverse-humped Jared, and now Jared is going to hate him. “Uh. Yeah?” he asks, clearing his throat. “Yes?”   
  
“Nothing,” Jared grunts, and Misha can hear him shuffling about outside the door. “Just woke up and you weren't there. Wondering where you got to.”   
  
“Um...” Oh sweet merciful Jebus! Jared hadn't woken up during Misha's impromptu lapse in sleepy judgment. The Gods of Inappropriate Erections were smiling down upon him.   
  
“Misha?” Jared repeats, and his voice....ugh. It's too easy to imagine it has nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with choking on Misha's cock during a particularly wet blow job and Jesus what the fuck is wrong with him? Bad thoughts! Bad thoughts! Terrible, delicious, hot, bad thoughts! Misha groans, deep and way to loud. “”Dude! Are you alright? Misha say something or I'm going to bust the door down.” And God, even that's an attractive thought.   
  
“Be...” Oh God, Misha can feel it, the way his balls draw up, tense and full. He's going to come, with Jared right there, nothing but a door between them. It's obscene! It's immoral! It's depraved! It's fucking hot. “Be right oh shit, fuck, nnnnngh out!”   
  
Well, that wasn't smooth.   
  
“Are you alright?” Jared asks, concerned and right there.   
  
“Fine, fine. Stubbed my toe,” Misha manages out, clearing his throat again. “I'm fine. Uh, gimme a minute. Be right out.”   
  
“Kay,” Jared murmurs, and Misha lets out a long relieved breath. He washes his hands quickly, drying them on the back of his pants. Opening the door, he startles, finding Jared standing on the other side.   
  
Jared opens his mouth to speak, but no words escape. Misha watches with no little curiosity as a blush steels across Jared's face. “I...um,” Jared says, looking up at the ceiling. “Is your toe okay? Dinners nearly done, and I called the guys up from the guest house. Fuck, Misha you have come all over your shirt.”   
  
Misha is speechless, looking down to find that yes, he is in fact covered in come. He's not normally so...juicy. Nor is he prone to spraying; he's more of a gusher, which is why he hadn't bothered to even check. It's embarrassing, but Misha is not prone to being embarrassed so he squashes the feeling brutally and clears his throat. “I uh...I should probably change then, huh? I mean, unless formal wear is required. This probably almost constitutes as a pearl necklace.”   
  
Jared laughs, nodding and looking at just about everything but Misha's face. His eyes settle on Misha's wrecked shirt once more, and he flushes again. “Your suitcase is on the bed,” he says in a rush. “I'll uh... give you some privacy.”   
  
He's changing his shirt, and privacy really isn't necessary. Jared is obviously weirded out now. “Jared,” Misha begins, not because he has anything to say but because he feels as if he probably should say something. “I... uh. I'm sorry if this makes you feel, you know, awkward. If you don't want to share a bed together,” he gets a little thrill saying it out loud, “I'll understand.”   
  
Jared's eyes go comically wide and he shakes his head violently. “What? No! Dude, it happens. No hard...er I mean no harm, no foul. Christ, since my piercings healed up a bit I can't stop getting boners. I'm way over sensitive now; had a boner the whole time we were driving. Potholes were a real killer. You could have warned me.”   
  
Misha is silent, processing the information that Jared has so willingly giving him. Sensitive; Jared is sensitive now. “I um... that didn't happen to me,” Misha gets out, grabbing a shirt out of his suit case. Now he can't look at Jared.   
  
“.....Oh,” Jared says awkwardly, and they accidentally catch each other’s eyes. Looking away swiftly, they head for the stairs in painful silence.   
  
Misha has no idea what just happened.   
  
  
  


**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/) **

  
Jared has a boner.   
  
He can still smell the scent of come hanging in the air, and he knows without a doubt that Misha had jerked off in his bathroom. Hand curled around his dick just like Jared had done in the very same room so many times before.   
  
So. Many. Times.   
  
Yeah, yeah. When didn't he have a boner? Of course this wasn't a typical inappropriate erection. This was a 'oh my god Misha was jerking off in the bathroom and talking to me at the same freaking time' inappropriate erection. Jared was decidedly aware that he'd just heard Misha come. All over himself, apparently.   
  
So yeah. He has a boner.   
  
And things are awkward.   
  
They eat dinner with his family, making small talk and avoiding the subject of the wedding with surprising efficiency. Afterward they head back for the cottage, lingering on the front porch as Jensen smokes.   
  
Without the stilted conversation with his parents as a buffer, all it takes is one look at them and Jensen is frowning through his smoke rings. “You guys fuck?”   
  
Sputtering in tandem, Jared and Misha boggle. “What?” He asks, choking a little on the question because seriously, what?   
  
“I think Jensen is referring to the air of awkwardness floating around you like beer-farts,” Tom elaborates, ever so eloquently. “It's very post-coital .”   
  
“No!” Jared denies quickly, before he can start blushing. “We didn't... do that.”   
  
“Jared's not gay,” Misha chimes, and it pains Jared deeply to hear the sureness in his voice. Still, he doesn't have it in him to tell Misha yet (or be rejected by proxy.)   
  
Jensen nods, and makes a sympathetic face. “Did your dicks accidentally touch in your sleep or something?”   
  
Again, flabbergasted as to how Jensen could draw such a conclusion, Jared voices his single-word question. “What?!”   
  
Shrugging, Jensen explains easily. “It's cool dude, it happens. See this one time, Tom and I had to share a bed when we went to his parents’ house over spring vacation in New York, since he has like a huge family and I wasn't about to sleep on the floor, twin bed or not. Anyway, we woke up and our dicks were total---”   
  
“That's enough!” Tom says, slapping a hand over Jensen's mouth. “It was a total accident, and the next night Jensen did sleep on the floor.”   
  
“Only 'cause you made me,” Jensen replies breezily. “Seriously, it was an accident. It's not like we had wood. At least I didn't. Awe, Tommy! Did you have wood from me? That's adorable, dude.”   
  
Jared laughs, and leads them inside. “You seriously one-hundred percent comfortable with your heterosexuality, aren't you?” He asks Jensen, amused. Misha and Jared sink down on the old leather couch, with Tom taking the matching chair, Jensen sprawling out shamelessly on the floor.   
  
“Eh, I've come to terms with it,” Jensen says, like being straight was a bad thing. “Am what I am. Except for that week---”   
  
“Nanananana, can't hear you!” Misha cries out suddenly, jamming his fingers in his ears. “La la la la.”   
  
“Seriously dude, I thought I liked the ween. I even camped out naked in his bed,” Jensen says with a laugh. “He ran from the room screaming and hid out in Mike’s dorm for like three days.”   
  
“How'd you figure you were straight after that?” Jared frowns. He can't imagine himself straight; the idea that he never has to touch boobs is too relieving.   
  
Misha cuts in, a vicious glint in his eye. “I desensitized him,” he declares quite proudly. “Un-gayed him since he was never really gay to begin with. He just thought he was. He was only gay in theory.”   
  
Jared fidgets, feeling suddenly clammy. “How do you know he wasn't really gay? I mean, who's to say he isn't bi?”   
  
“Oh I am definitely straight,” Jensen chimes in. “See, Misha was right. I was only gay in theory. I just had a big old bro'crush on the magpie, here.” He jabs his thumb at Misha and grins. “He's a good lookin' guy, who can blame me?”   
  
Not Jared, certainly.   
  
“Basically, I described in detail---”   
  
“He brought gay porn,” Jensen cuts Misha off.   
  
“Whatever, I brought gay porn, and described in detail exactly what it means to be gay,” Misha explains, with a tight looking smile. “The ins and outs, pun intended.”   
  
“And yeah,” Jensen shudders. “I am equally repulsed by the idea of sticking my cock in a butt hole as I am having one stuck in mine. I don't even want to stick my dick in a girl’s ass. And I don't think I could handle having a dick in my mouth. And rimming? Ugh... yeah. No. I am as straight as they come.”   
  
Suddenly Jared goes from clammy to hot. He's sure he'd have no problem having a cock in his mouth (ask him later about rimming, he's still iffy on that.) In fact, just thinking about it makes his mouth wet, and he swallows hard. As for all the other stuff...well. The idea doesn't exactly make him want to puke.   
  
A vague memory of Sebastian's dick sliding against his, in a pool of Jared's own come, makes his stomach lurch and his cheeks burn. Yeah, dicks definitely don't make him want to puke. The rest of it he'll have to explore later, but it's safe to say he does like dick. He doesn't doubt he could stick his dick anywhere in a guy. As for taking... well, he's pretty sure he could do it in theory. “Huh,” he manages to say, without squeaking.   
  
“Thus Jensen the unrepentant man-whore was born,” Tom says with a dramatic sigh, taking any attention of Jared for which he is eternally grateful.   
  
“Damn straight, pun totally intended,” Jensen says from the his lazy sprawl on the floor. “Plus, a pussy is self-lubricating.”   
  
That imagery actually does makes Jared feels a little sick.   
  
Jared is very, very gay and and also marrying a woman.   
  
It's enough to ruin any one's holidays, really.   
  
It's only an hour later when Jared makes his departure. They've spent the time chatting and joking like they would any other time, as if Jared's doom wasn't marked on a calendar somewhere in the main house. With that thought, he pats Misha on the leg (stolen contact got him through the day, it seemed) and pushes himself up off the couch. “I need to talk to my mom before bed,” he explains with an apologetic shrug.   
  
His mom is in her sewing room, red notebook splayed out in front of her. She startles as he enters, slamming it shut so fast, he laughs. “Come on mama,” he says tiredly, but with a smile. He leans against the door jam. “So, when's the date?”   
  
It's an odd thing to be asking, considering it's his wedding. His mother makes a face, and crumples before him, looking ten years older in a matter of ten seconds. “December 29th?” She says it likes it's a question, but it's not.   
  
“Wedging it in before the new year, eh?” He sighs. “I'm not mad at you mama. I know you're just doing what needs to be done, is all.”

  
  
She smiles, but he can see the tears in her eyes. “JT,” she begins, pushing up out of her chair to come to him. “Baby, is there anything you want to talk about? Anything at all?”   
  
For a second, he wants to tell her the secret, but fear wells up inside him like hot bile, and he chokes on it. He can't say it, he just can't. “You know, for all this wedding talk, I really am happy to be home.”   
  
That seems to do the trick and she smiles for real, pulling him into a tight hug. He lets her reach up and pet his head, as if he were a child. She needs it, and some small part of him needs it too. They spend half an hour just talking, like they used to. Jared hadn't lied; no matter the situation, he really did miss his mama.   
  
He heads to his room not long after that, contemplating another shower but deciding against it. He's been half hard since before dinner, and though another shower is ideal, he's lazy after the long drive. His piercings, while mostly healed, still require delicate handling, and jerking-off takes a little longer. He half-contemplates putting it off till tomorrow, but he's tense with stress and going to bed (with Misha in it) in this condition will do him no favors in the morning. What if he sleep-humped him or something? He'd never live that down. It has to be done. Misha never goes to bed before midnight, but Jared locks the door anyway. He'll unlock it when he's done, but for now he had a theory to test.   
  


  


**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/) **

  
Misha gets in not long after Jared, and with a little buzz. He's not sure if he (or Tom or Jensen) should feel bad about smoking a bowl in Jared's guest house, but he's too high to muster up the appropriate feelings of guilt, so it's a moot point anyway. The path between the guest house and main house is lit with solar-powered fairy lights, of which he trips on four (and probably breaks at least one). The back door isn't locked, but he locks it behind him anyway, stealing into the kitchen and grabbing a string cheese out of the fridge.   
  
After four fumbling attempts to open the packaging, Misha tears into the cheese with his teeth. The stairs creak beneath his feet, and he slows his pace. He knows he's being overly cautious due to the pot, but everything sounds so fucking loud. Misha reaches Jared's room at the far end of the hall, half his cheese hanging out of his mouth, the other smashed in his hand, and he takes the door knob carefully.   
  
The speed at which he turns it is comically slow, but the tiny metallic snick never comes. It's locked, and Misha is confused. He could knock, but he'd hate to wake Jared up. He knows Jared hasn't been sleeping well, and he can't bring himself to steal any rest away. Plus he doesn't know Jared's stance on him smoking pot in the guest house.   
  
“JT lock you out?” Jeff Padalecki asks in a quiet whisper, peeking out from the door opposite Jared's. It startles Misha, and he drops his cheese with an 'eep'.   
  
“Yeah,” Misha says in a breath, retrieving his snack. “I don't want to wake him though.”   
  
Jeff nods, scratching at his stomach absently. Misha is struck with the uncomfortable notion that he and Jeff are the same age. Actually, he thinks he might be a bit older then Jeff. That's not disturbing at all. No sir. “Eh, just cut through my room and use the bathroom door.”   
  
“Oh.” Misha hadn't thought of that. Jared's en suit bathroom connects to Jeff's. He probably should have taken that into consideration when he was jerkin' the gerkin' earlier. “Uh. Thanks.”   
  
Laughing, Jeff just nods in the same happy-to-help way Jared often does, leading Misha through the bathroom. “No problem dude. Can't have you wandering the halls smelling like an Amsterdam bakery, now can we?” He vanishes back into his room before Misha can even apologize (not that he would) and Misha can still hear him laughing softly as the doors shut. The laughing could have very well be in his head though. Jensen always gets the good pot.   
  
Uncomfortable in the bathroom, as it is more or less a crime scene (his come-stained shirt is still lying on the floor, and he should probably pick that up before Sherry finds it), he makes for Jared's door. It's cracked open, a thin shaft of light spilling into Jared's otherwise dark room.   
  
He peeks in through the crack, one eye wide and the other squinted. Jared is in bed as he has suspected but he isn't sleeping.   
  
Oh, he isn't sleeping.   
  
The lighting isn't optimal, but it's obvious what Jared is up to. Hell, Misha had been doing it not so many hours ago. He shouldn't watch, but let's face it, Misha has already proven to be less than moral in ideal situations and this is certainly an ideal situation. It's ideal for Misha to get a look at Jared’s o-face anyway, and hell, it's his only damn chance.   
  
Blinking rapidly, Misha forces his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The light only spills over Jared's thighs, but he can see the shadows and outlines of everything important. He knows without seeing that Jared’s brow is furrowed, because he can make out the white of his teeth where he's biting his lip. His head is thrown back, chin up, neck exposed, and he has his legs spread so wide that one is actually dangling off the bed, curled toes brushing the wood floor.   
  
Whatever it Jared is doing to himself, he's certainly enjoying it.   
  
Misha takes note.   
  
There's a squelching sound, wet and familiar, that fills the silence in the room. Jared's punched-out breath confirms Misha's suspicions, as to the jerky motions of his other arm, the one not occupied with his cock.   
  
Jared is fingering himself.   
  
God, Misha wishes he could see it, watch the way Jared just opens up. He wants to know if it’s one finger, or dare he say it, two fingers. Is he teasing himself, brushing against his entrance? Is he knuckles deep? Does he know to crook his fingers just right so he can reach that one special spot that will ultimately make him come his brain out of his dick?   
  
‘Cause if he doesn’t, well Misha could certainly teach him that.   
  
You know, if Jared were into dudes. Which he totally isn’t and Misha needs to remember that. It’s harder then it seems.   
  
He brushes against the door and holds his breath when the light shifts. Jared however is too busy to notice. Though he can’t see what Jared’s hands are doing, Misha can see the way his hips are twitching, eager jabs upward that make his ass slide farther down the bed.   
  
One more foot and Misha will get a money shot.   
  
Show Misha the money.   
  
He’s hard, big surprise there, palming roughly at the tented front of his pants. There is a noticeably growing damp spot, the size of a quarter, where pre-come has soaked through the poly-cotton blend. He gives up and grabs his dick through the fabric, stroking himself with jerky, fumbling motions.   
  
Jared is groaning now, the quiet kind that you try to stifle, but escape anyway. The sound grates over Misha’s nerves and sink straight into his cock, making his hands clench with every moan. He’s practically humping the door jam now as Jared slips a little further down the bed, thighs spreading wider. Six more inches, that’s all he wants for Christmas, six more inches and a photographic memory.   
  
Hell, he has that last one, all he needs is that six inches.   
  
Like a God send, Jared’s hips stutter roughly, and his foot slips, and suddenly there it is, haloed in the light of the bathroom; Jared’s cock. He’s seen it before, yeah, but never so gloriously hard and well-decorated. He’s too far away to see just exactly what Jared is doing, but Misha can at least tell that Jared’s not just teasing himself. He’s got serious business going on down there, and damn, but he looks like he’s enjoying it.   
  
Misha’s enjoying it too.   
  
Misha is enjoying it so much he doesn’t even feel his balls draw up as Jared’s hand stutter and his hips fly up, sprays of white slicking his thighs. He comes just as Jared does, in his pants against his palm, spurt after spurt of wet heat.   
  
With a shuddering breath, he catches a glimpse of Jared flopping back on the bed, lazily wiping his hand down the front of his shirt. Misha panics when Jared pushes himself up, rolling up off the bed. He stumbles to the toilet, yanking out his wet dick and forcing himself to pee with sheer will.   
  
He’s midstream when Jared pushes the door open, and freezes. Misha knows that if he looks, he’ll see the come staining Jared’s shirt. So he doesn’t, but God, he wants too.   
  
“Oh hey,” Misha grunts in what he hopes to God is in a casual manner. “Didn’t think you were up. Just got in. Door was locked so Jeff let me in through his room. I didn’t want to wake you.”   
  
“Oh uh... sorry. You should have knocked! I was uh... wasn’t asleep yet,” Jared fumbles, shifting in door way. Misha doesn’t look at him as he heads for the sink, scrubbing his hands clean of sticky come under the pretense of simply a post-pee hand washing. No one really does that, do they? He hopes it’s not weird. “I’ll let you finish up here,” Jared offers.   
  
“M’done,” Misha announces, drying his hands on his shirt. It’s probably good that Jared isn’t looking at him or he might notice Misha’s own noticeable come stain. Still, they’re dancing around each other and refusing eye contact. “Just gonna throw on some pajamas.”   
  
Nodding shortly, Jared lets him slip past. “Let me know when you’re decent.”   
  
There isn’t anything particularly decent about Misha (except for maybe his fine ass but he doesn’t want to sound too vain), so he assumes Jared means ‘fully dressed’. “I’m good,” he calls out as he finishes tightening the drawstring on his pajama pants.   
  
Jared is shirtless as he climbs into bed, and Misha gives him a questioning look.   
  
“S’too hot to wear a shirt to bed,” Jared mumbles as an excuse, turning to bury his head in the pillow. Misha has to give the boy credit; Jared has gotten marginally better at hiding his lies.   
  
Misha smirks. “Well yeah,” he says, with his usually cocky bravado. “I’m in it.”   
  
For all that it is obvious the world hates Misha, it isn’t the most horrible end to the day.   
  
  


  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/)

  
It’s five days before Chrismas proper and the gang is just getting ready to wedge back into Misha’s cramped little car to take Jensen and Tom to Richardson for the Holidays. They’ll pick them up on the twenty-seventh to prepare for any last minute plans his mother is sure to inflict on them. Jared is half sure that Jensen and his brother are also in cahoots in planning a bachelor party. He’s underage, but he kind of doubts that either one of them would have any issue with getting him drunk. Jensen seems to be under the impression that if Jared isn’t on campus he isn’t Jensen’s problem and really, he’s not wrong. It isn’t like he’s an RA here in Texas.   
  
Jared is actually a little flabbergasted by Jeff’s sudden desire to see him trashed. When he’d said as much to Jeff, his brother had ruffled his hair and laughed. “Don’t know what these guys have done to you,” he’d explained, “but you’re not nearly as much of a dork as you were when you left. Anyway, Misha said you could handle your beer.”   
  
Jared’s always known Misha was a filthy liar.   
  
“Hey mama?” he says, catching her in the laundry room. “Have you seen my socks?” Since doing his own laundry, he’s down to about four pair as the dorm laundromat washing machines are notorious for eating them. That’s the only explanation as to what could possibly be happening to them. Either that or Misha is stealing them. Actually, that’s (weirder) and probably more likely.   
  
His mother makes a strange sort of squeaking noise that he assumes is due to the stress and points to the hamper on the washing machine. “I did your laundry this morning honey,” she says, looking a little flustered. “I think there’s some of Misha’s things in there too.”   
  
“Oh well... thanks,” he says with a shrug, gathering the hamper into his arms. He drops a kiss on her head before he heads back upstairs. “We’ll be back for dinner.”   
  
They’ve already dropped Jensen and Tom off in Richardson before Jared remembers to remind Misha where half his clothes probably are. “Oh hey, my mom did some of your laundry. It’s mixed in with mine if you need it.”   
  
Misha makes the same kind of squeaky noise his mother had, like a half-choke, half sputter. Jared decides it doesn’t require investigation and let's it go. He’s got bigger things on his mind anyway.   
  
He steadfastly avoids any of the Bledel’s till he wakes up Christmas morning to find Alexis in his living room chatting with his mother. From what little he’s caught of their conversation, he can tell that their talking about the rehearsal dinner. Taking one look at the pair of them, he says nothing as he turns on his heels and marches right back up the stairs.   
  
Hiding himself in the bathroom, he stares into the mirror. He can barely look at his own reflection without seeing Alexis standing there beside him, her hand petting lovingly at the mutant bulge that is her stomach. There is a baby in there, an honest-to-god child, and it’s his. He’s been away in college, hasn’t had the benefit of looking at it every day, so he’s still coming to terms with the fact. He can’t look at himself without seeing Alexis and he can’t look at Alexis without seeing a baby.   
  
He supposes though that it isn’t the baby that scares him anymore. Alright, it doesn’t scare him as much. This kid will be the only chance he’ll ever have at being a father, and he knows that one day he’s going to be totally okay with that. Not today, today he is not okay with being a father, but it’ll happen, he’s sure of it. It’s the Alexis part, the wife part. He’ll never be okay with having a wife, with waking up beside a woman. He’ll never feel anything but trapped with Alexis.   
  
He’s not marrying Alexis; he’s marrying a lie.   
  
Head swimming and stomach churning, he barely makes it to the toilet in time to loose what little of his dinner he still has in his stomach. When at last it’s fully empty, Jared hastily brushes his teeth, and rushes back into his bedroom.   
  
He needs to escape.   
  
“Misha,” Jared hisses, kicking the foot of the bed. “Misha wake up!” He yanks open the curtains, and kicks the bed again.   
  
“Whaaa?” Misha groans, rolling over to shield his eyes from the sudden onslaught of sunlight flooding the bed. “Uuugh, go milk your own cows, bitch.”   
  
Jared can’t help but laugh at that. The previous morning he’d convinced Misha that he could help him get over his fear of eating food he’d once seen alive by acclimating him to the animals. They’d fed the pigs (to which Misha declared it was even weirder to be feeding that which he intended to feed from) and milked the cows. Misha hadn’t had much to say about that but the horrified expression of disgust said enough.   
  
“Not cows,” Jared hisses, but he’s smiling now. Only Misha could bring him back from the brink of terror that was seeing Alexis’s ungainly form sitting in on his couch discussing wedding plans. “Alexis. She’s here.”   
  
Misha blinks at him, moving insofar as to scratch at the stubble dusting his cheek and no more. “Cow,” he grunts. “Just the wrong kind for milking. Eh, well she is pregnant.”   
  
“That’s disgusting,” and dear God, but it is. Ugh. Jared gags. “It’s also not helpful. What the hell do I do?”   
  
“What are you trying to do?” Misha asks in return, pushing himself up to sit properly.   
  
Irritated, Jared huffs. “I don’t know! I just don’t want to see her! Or talk to her! Until... you know, the last possible minute.” All he sees when he looks at her is an unfortunate, spoiled little girl and the innocent baby inside her who has unknowingly ruining his life. He doesn’t blame the kid, it isn’t the kid’s fault it’s come to fruition, but still... he’s bitter.   
  
“You want the next words you say to her to be ‘I do’?” Misha says flatly, tossing his legs off the side of the bed. He fishes a clean-ish pair of pants of the ground and Jared turns around to let him dress.   
  
“If I had my way the next words I said to her would be ‘I don’t’” Jared spits, teeth grinding together. He shucks his own pants, and kicks them a side, snagging a clean pair out of the hamper.   
  
Of course that’s when his mom busts in, forever forgetting to knock. They’re both zipping up from opposite sides of the bed. His mother has seen him in his boxers before, but that doesn't mean he enjoys it. Hell, Misha doesn’t even wear boxers; for all Jared knows, his mother just got full frontal.   
  
Silence reigns for a full eight seconds before Jared simply cannot take it anymore. “Misha and I are going out,” he declares, and his mother chokes on her next breath. “To breakfast,” he elaborates, patting her awkwardly on the back. “Are you okay?”   
  
“Me? What? No, I’m fine, baby. You uh... you just head out.” She looks away and Jared is half sure that she’s blushing. “I sent Alexis off. I thought... well. You just ran off, I figured you didn’t deserve to be surprised like that. I asked her to call ahead next time.”   
  
Jared sighs, feeling guilty and relieved all at once. “Thanks mom.”   
  
***   
  
“You know,” Misha begins and already Jared knows he doesn’t want to hear it. “You’re going to have to talk to her eventually. Don’t you think it would be better to just get it over with?”   
  
They’re sitting at what used to be Jared’s favorite little diner, right off the highway. The back corner booth catches a completely random wi-fi signal and Jared spent countless hours here studying or simply just hiding away. He’s in the same booth, eyeballing a cup of coffee he’s half sure has spit in it.   
  
He has absolutely no idea what the waiter’s deal is. He knows him vaguely, Milo something-or-another. He’s two years younger than Jared, and his family is new to town. He gave Jared an unmitigated stink eye as he took both his and Misha’s orders. Jared just does his best to smile through it, and considers leaving him a big tip since he’s already obviously having such a shitty day. Jared doesn’t want to add to that.   
  
“Nothing’s changed,” Jared replies to Misha. “I’m not ready for a baby, and I’m not ready for a wife. I don't want to be a husband.”   
“Ever?” Misha asks, sniffing his coffee and apparently finding it satisfactory as he takes a big drink. It doesn’t make Jared trust his cup any more however. Misha’s addiction to caffeine could easily outweigh possible spit.   
  
Flicking a sugar packet, Jared shrugs. Unless Texas decides to legalize gay marriage, Jared really doesn’t want to be a husband. “No,” he sighs. “I really don’t think so.”   
  
“So what do you want to be?” Misha asks, a left-field kind of question that Jared has come to love Misha for. It has no relevance to the topic at hand, really, and it’s just what Jared needs.   
  
Recently he’s been giving this very question much thought. Jared had always thought he’d follow his mother’s footsteps and become a teacher, but lately... he’s not so sure it’s for him. “I think I want to be a journalist,” he tells the table top, embarrassed by his own admission.   
  
“Really?” Misha asks, and Jared can’t discount the surprise in his voice. Journalists are bold and daring and loud. It’s their job to make themselves heard. They’re everything Jared isn’t... but also everything he thinks he’d like to be. “You? I thought you said your opinion doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.”   
  
“Yeah, well maybe I want it to,” Jared replies boldly. “I mean, a pretty wise guy once told me that it’s the smaller pictures that make the bigger picture what it is.”   
  
Snorting softly, Jared looks up to catch Misha staring into his coffee. “Sounds like a smart guy.” This moment is soft, gentle even. It’s not like them, with their easy laughs and quick smiles. It makes Jared feel sweaty, and nervous.   
  
“The smartest,” he agrees, completely serious. “He made me realize that my opinion mattered but the only way I could make it count is if I made it heard. I think that’s what I want to do; I want to be heard. Not that it matters now.”   
  
“Of course it does,” Misha argues, suddenly vehement. “A small town, a baby, a wife? They can only hold you back if you let them. If you’ve got places to go Jared, you just take them with you. It’s not the end of the world.”   
  
“Alexis will never leave this town,” Jared says, reasonably. “I’m trapped.”   



	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Chapter One For Blanket Warning and Disclaimer

**[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/) **

  
It's Christmas dinner, except in Misha's head it's Thanksgiving dinner all over again. The only difference this time is that they're crammed into the Padalecki's spacious dining room. Jared had taken one look at the seating arrangements (assigned by tasteful little note cards decorating the plates) and threw Alexis's straight into the fire without so much as a word.   
  
No one questions it when he shoves Misha into the seat beside him.   
  
Dinner is served, alongside forced smiles and several bottles of wine. “Are you okay?” Misha whispers at Jared, where he's systematically drowning his peas in a pool of cranberry sauce before stabbing them brutally with a carving knife he must have stolen off the plate of honeyed ham.   
  
Jared looks up at him, wide eyed and pale. “Trapped,” he hisses, echoing his words from the diner conversation. “God, Misha. Don't let them trap me.”   
  
It's the eleventh hour, he thinks. “What can I do?” He asks in a frantic rush, wishing Mike or Tom or Jensen was here to bail him out. But this time he's on his own, without the benefit of a safety net. “What do you want me to do?”   
  
“Anything,” Jared growls. “Anything, Misha! I don't care about the consequences. I can't marry her. I swear, I will love and raise that baby. I will work on this fucking farm until I die, any of it, but I can't marry her, I can't! Don't let them make me. Fuck, tell them I have herpes, I don't care. Just... fuck.”   
  
Their whispered conversation is drawing attention, no doubt. “Okay,” Misha says, hoping he doesn't look half as terrified as he feels. “Fuck, Jared. I got your back, I promise.”   
  
He's never made a promise before.   
  
“I'd like to propose a toast,” Gerry says, from his place at the head of the table. He's drawing attention away from Jared and Misha and any other time, Misha would be thankful. “To the union of our families. I know our kids haven't taken the most traditional of metho---”   
  
“Actually,” Misha cuts in, clearing his throat. “Jared can't marry Alexis.”   
  
“Excuse me son?” Gerry says, gruffly.   
  
“Jared can't marry Alexis because... because...”   
  
There are a lot of things Misha could say here. There's the herpes thing, or he could give a speech on how it's a new fucking era where people don't get married because someone forgot the condom. Misha could remind them that a marriage should be built on love and respect, not a backseat accident and a whole lot of resentment. He could talk about how a marriage between Alexis and Jared would only create an emotionally unstable environment for the baby in question. Misha could talk about how it isn't fair to either Alexis or Jared to lose out on finding real love.   
  
But Misha is a selfish bastard so what comes out of his mouth is entirely built on his own wishes. “...Because he's gay.” There's a pause, and Misha can't credit to dramatic flair, or just his own deep desires when he adds, as an afterthought, “with me.”   
  
Silence. Stone silence. The kind of silence that tends to sound louder than even the most rambunctious of crowds. Where they had been looking at Gerry before, during his heartfelt little speech on why abstinence is key, now all eyes were on Misha. Misha's hand is numb under the table where Jared is gripping it and Misha realizes with a gut churning horror that he just announced Jared as a homosexual in front of his whole family in Texas.   
  
And to think, he'd been worried about losing Jared to Alexis.   
  
“JT?” Sharon asks in a wavering voice and Misha feels like he's going to puke. He prays to anyone who will listen that Jared's parents are understanding parents. That they'll understand Misha is a horrible, horrible person and not take it out on Jared. He prays that he hasn't done anything to hurt Jared. If they weren't understanding though, wouldn't Jared have denied the claims by now? Wouldn't he have protested? He wasn't. Instead he was weaving his fingers in with Misha's and bringing their hands to the top of the table.   
  
“At Thanksgiving, I didn't tell you I was bringing Misha home until last minute because I was nervous,” Jared says, voice shaking. He's usually a horrible liar, and Misha is a little bit astounded because he doesn't sound anything less then brutally honest. “I didn't know how to tell you I was gay. I didn't even know if I was going to tell you now. But I wanted you to meet him, at least. Get to know him before you judged us. I know you like Misha, so don't deny it now.”   
  
This is not an avenue Misha expected, but if Jared wants to use Misha as a scapegoat, well, Misha is hard pressed to stop him.   
  
“You were on a date,” Alexis cuts in, her voice deceptively calm. Her hand flits to her bulging stomach, trapped beneath a tastefully cut black dress, earning a murmur of tittering, pity-filled coos. “When I ran into you. You two were on a date.”   
  
“Yes,” Misha offers, his voice breaking like he's thirteen. He's a fantastic liar, but this? He doesn't want this to be a lie. He wants this to be real so bad can taste it. Not the baby part of course but... everything else. He wants it so badly; hell, he'd accept a baby into his life if he meant he could have Jared too. “Was my time to pick,” Misha breaths with a shaky laugh, remembering the very conversation Jared and he were having when everything went to shit.   
  
“I would have picked Bio-Dome,” Jared offers, staring down into his lap. Jared remembers too.   
  
Mrs. Bledel makes an unladylike like noise and slams her hand on the coffee table. “No one asked you about your perversions boy! No one's asked you anything! You will marry her.”   
  
“He won't,”Misha protest, astounded by the woman's ignorance.   
  
“You will shut your mouth, boy! You're not part of this family! Mr. Padalecki! You've agreed----”   
  
“I'm sorry,” Gerry says, his voice void of... well, anything. Even so, what he says, flat or not, is surprising to say the least “But I believe that this conversation ends here. You've heard my son; he has no desire to abandon your daughter in her time of need. This is a... a new day and age, a new era. People will... be more understanding.” He says it like he doesn't possibly believe it to be true, but he says it nonetheless. Sharon laces her fingers into his hand, mimicking Misha and Jared's very pose. She looks around at the hall of people, daring them to contradict her husband. It's relieving, that glare of hers; maybe Jared will be okay.   
  
One thing’s for sure; Jared either knows his parents will go along with it when the truth comes out, or he's really so desperate to avoid marrying the twit, he'll pretend to be gay until it's safe.   
  
Mr. Bledel looks disgusted, lips curling back to reveal spotty, yellow teeth. “Surely you don't intend to support your son's... sickness? Better that he marries Alexis and puts his...” his eyes flitter to Misha, “…behind him. He will straighten up, marry our daughter and keep his sins to himself. I won't have him contaminating the child.”   
  
“Now see here,” Jeff Padalecki pushes up out of his seat, towering over the dinner party. “Jared's a good boy. I won't have you casting aspersions on my baby brother. We don't care what he likes, we love him anyway.” His gaze mimics his father’s, glaring and defiant. No one speaks against him.   
  
“I always wanted a big sister,” is Megan Padalecki's offering, and Misha can't help but snort, half out of nerves, and half out of horror. Jared glares at him, but it's half-heated at best. Megan's comment has seemed to do the trick, little tittering laughs and nervous smiles filling the room as they all attempt to pretend nothing out of the ordinary is happening.   
  
“I'd... I'd marry you anyway,” Alexis blurts out, desperately from Misha's other side. She's leaning forward, belly pressed against the table, in an attempt to look earnestly at Jared. “I don't care. People don't need to know. It doesn't need to leave the room. You've barely known him. He can't mean... how much does he really mean to you? Just... just marry me and we'll never talk about this again.” She's as ignorant as her mother.   
  
The expression Jared gives her could set water on fire and looks totally wrong on Jared's usually smiling face. “He means more than me than you ever did. Ever. And he means at least as much as I expect the... the baby will... eventually.” Jared swallowed, and Misha feels dread well up inside him. He wants to slap his hand over Jared's hand because he just does not want to hear those three words he's sure are going to come out of his mouth. He really doesn't. “I love him.”   
  
He's going to puke. He knows it.   
  
“You'll burn in hell,” Mrs. Bledel growls at him, and Misha is used to those kinds of things, but he doesn't want that for Jared, who isn't even gay in the first place. He wants to punch the lady in the neck.   
  
Someone throws a piece of ham at Mrs. Bledel, a large bite already taken out of it, from the looks of it. It slaps her in the face and falls into a gravy boat with a splosh. Stunned--and not alone in the feeling--Misha's head all but swivels on his shoulders as he looks back to see who threw the meat. It's a little old lady, with dark skin and white hair. It's not a Padalecki, from what he can tell. “Quiet Nanette,” the lady admonishes. “Don't go giving the boy any grief. Your brother-in-law is one of them homosexuals and we love him just fine. It isn't appropriate dinner conversation,” she adds, giving Jared and Misha a firm glance, “and it doesn't need discussing. Carry on now, and no more talk about a wedding.”   
  
“It's as Adele says,” a woman at Misha's table announces in a grizzled voice. She's Jared's grandmother, Lynette Padalecki, a wizened old woman who looks like she could happily eat raw eggs and nails for breakfast. When Jared had introduced them at Thanksgiving, she'd ignored him, giving Misha a long, hard leer and announcing she knew what she was grateful for this year. Then she pinched him hard on the ass. Misha liked her. “Shut up and eat and leave the little sinners alone.”   
  
“Mother,” Gerry hisses, but she stabs at him with her fork, and he quiets.   
  
“Well don't go denying it,” she mutters, biting into her mash potatoes. “We're all sinners, ain’t that right Miss Bledel? Last I hear, the good Lord ain't no more fond of whores than homosexuals.”   
  
“Don't even think about denying it Kimberly Alexis Bledel,” Adele Bledel, a name which Misha will laugh at later, snaps. “If you’re comfortable enough to lay with a man before marriage, you better accept the title that comes with it. I'll tell you the same thing I told your mother when my boy knocked her up: Should have kept your legs together.”   
  
“Mother!” Mr. Bledel says, no doubt horrified at the amount of dirty laundry his mother is content to share about the family. If it weren't so horrifying, Misha would find this hilarious. However, it is horrifying and all he can do is stare, open-mouthed and wide eyed, while surreptitiously stealing the cutlery.   
  
“Whores,” Adele waves her own fork about the room in a flippant gesture. Following Grandma Padalecki's actions, she turns back to her plate and digs into her dinner. “The lot of you.”   
  
Even for all the surprise and horror, Misha remembers why he fucking loves old people.   
  
*   
  
Dinner is a strange affair of stilted conversations and awkward glances after the big outing, but Jared is smiling so wide Misha's own face hurts, so really, that's all that matters.   
  
“We'll be in my room,” Jared says, yanking Misha up the stairs as soon as they get home from the dinner. Jared's parents make to protest, but apparently Jared has grown more spine every day, and is having none of it.   
  
“Jared----”   
  
Jared doesn't stop, doesn't pause, just pulls Misha along, shoving him in the room and slamming the door behind him. He stares at Misha for one long, silent, horrifying minute.   
  
“Jared, I'm so sorry---”   
  
“Mike said he wouldn't tell you,” Jared says over him and Misha has no idea what he's talking about. “He promised. I was going to tell you Misha, I swear, but I just wasn't ready.”   
  
“What?” Misha blinks, and wonders how he managed to steal the salt shaker and three forks during dinner without anyone noticing.   
  
“Mike said he wouldn't tell you I was... um. That I'm gay,” Jared breaths. “I guess... I mean, he's more your friend then mine, I just thought---” Oh God. He looks so sad, but Misha is reeling.   
  
“Mike didn't tell me you're gay,” Misha says slowly, almost devoid of any real inflection. He can't muster up anything else because everything has just gone fun-house-mirror crazy and nothing makes sense. “Mike didn't tell me you're gay because you're not. Jared, you're not gay. You're not.”   
  
“I am,” Jared tell him, swallowing hard. “I was going to tell you. I just had... no idea how. And I mean... I should have talked to you when I started wondering. I should have told you first, but then I accidentally blurted it out to Sandy and then she goes and tells everyone I haven't been kissed, so every fucking girl I see kisses me and at first it was fun, but then it just... I just wanted it over with. Thinking about sex with girls makes me want to puke, but fooling around with Sebastian was the easiest---”   
  
“....I'm sorry, but what?” Misha asks, his voice coming out as a whisper. Jared didn't just say that. That's impossible. Jared is straight. Jared doesn't fool around with guys named Sebastian. He likes sex with girls. He does. That's how this works.   
  
This is all wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. This is Alice-In-Wonderland style, down the rabbit-hole, and into the twilight zone wrong. He can't wrap his head around it, mostly because it's too good to be true and he flat out refuses to be baited into a horrifying illusion of hope. He's made it this far in life without allowing himself any unreasonable expectations, he's certainly not about to start now, no matter how hot, and tan and adorable those expectations might be, with their pretty white teeth and dimples and quarter-bounce-worthy ass cheeks.   
  
He's upset, really, if not a little confused. How the hell did this happen? Did Misha turn Jared gay by... by... prolonged proximity or something? Like when girls' periods sync up and shit. Yes, yes, he knows better than to believe that but he can't help wonder. Wondering is a lot like doubt and Misha does not doubt himself, ever. It pisses him off that he might be starting now. His life use to be easy; he went to class; he played Gay Chicken; he made waffle irons. And then Jared walked in and everything went kersplat a frog on the highway. It occurs to him that he hasn't felt so much since... well. He can't remember. Jared makes him feel spectacular, awesome, confused, jealous, and awful all at once and he really has no idea what to think about it.   
  
Right now though, he's mostly confused with a side of flabbergasted. Yes, flabbergasted. Flabbergasted is not exactly a daily word, because it takes a lot to become properly flabbergasted, but Misha thinks that finding out your best-friend who you may or may not be brutally in love with is conveniently gay... shit. It's definitely a qualifier. At least by Misha's standards--and before Jared, Misha didn't even have standards. He had a checklist.   
  
  
  
Jared flushes. “I um. I fooled around with this guy at that party. But I think... well. I knew before that. I was just coming to terms with it before that. And then Roche just happened.”   
  
His tired, overtaxed, rusty hamster-wheel of a brain kicks into squeaky gear. Sebastian. Roche. Sebastian Roche. Oh fuck no. “You slept with Sebastian Roche!?”   
  
“I don't think what we did really constitutes as sex---” Like Jared would know what qualified as sex, he'd been gay for like a week as far as Misha knew!   
  
He's angry now. Which is a quite the accomplishment considering all the Valium he took before dinner.   
  
Misha's heard enough. He pushes past Jared and rushes into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, locking the door before Jared has a chance to grab the handle.   
  
“Misha?”   
  
Oh no. No this isn't happening. Fucking Sebastian. Sebastian is a tool. He's a creepy, handsy, foreign tool. It certainly explains the cocky look on his face at the gym. Bastard.   
  
“Misha come on.”   
  
Fine, whatever. Misha's man enough to face facts; he's never made a habit of lying to himself. Sebastian is a perfectly alright guy, cheery and actually quite witty. Misha is pretty sure he could even like Sebastian…   
  
“Are you mad that I didn't tell you?”   
  
...if Sebastian wasn't such a total douche-bag. Misha might have liked Sebastian if he hadn't made Mike choose between the Misha and himself. Mike had chosen Misha and Misha had never felt guiltier. Mike had really liked Sebastian. Loved him even, maybe, but as previously said, Misha's not exactly an expert on love. The point is, Mike picked Misha, because Sebastian had demanded it, and Misha couldn't fucking forgive Sebastian that, for laying down that ultimatum and putting his friend in a place like that. Mike was too good a friend for Misha; Misha had never deserved him. But in the end? In the end he had gotten Mike, and Mike had gotten his heart broken. So Misha hates Sebastian, hates him, hates him, hates him.....   
  
  
  
“Misha,” Jared breaths, all sad and quiet, and it's almost more than Misha can handle. “Please come out. Please?”   
  
….and then Sebastian has to go and sleep with Jared. Because Jared is apparently gay. Jared is gay. Jared is gay and Misha didn't know. Sebastian fucking Roche knew before Misha. Jared had decided to be gay and have his first hook up but he couldn't come to Misha. Why not?   
  
It hurts.   
  
“Misha,” Jared sounds like he might be crying but Misha isn't going to consider that. “I am so sorry that I didn't tell you. I was going to, I swear. But... it's just--your opinion matters so much more than anyone else’s. I know you wouldn't judge me, I know that. I just... I didn't know how to just say it.”   
  
Opening the door, mostly because the bathroom smells like Jared's body wash and it's making him dizzy, Misha gives Jared a baleful look. “You should have told me.”   
  
“I should have,” Jared agrees, pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you. I'm sorry. You really told my parents I was gay without actually knowing?”   
  
“Yeah,” Misha says with a frantic, broken laugh. “I just... you told me not to let them make you marry her and I couldn't... I didn't know what to do. In retrospect, I realize it probably could have gone really south.”   
  
“It's fine,” Jared assures him, pulling him from the bathroom. “We should sleep.” He's tired, but the bed just seems like a horrible idea at this moment. Now that Jared isn't straight, sleeping together has lost its innocence.   
  
Er... as innocent as it ever was. Which wasn't much.   
  
“Mmm,” Misha hums, letting himself be manhandled across the bedroom, and down onto the mattress. Maybe it's okay. It's not the first time they've laid in bed together. It's only pervy if he makes it pervy. It's okay. It's alright. It's fine. It's okay.   
  
  
Fuck that. He doesn't lie to himself. It's not okay and he's going to puke.   
  
Jared toes of Misha's shoes, and then his own, four loud thunks hitting the floor one-by-one. “You'll keep in touch?” He asks, laying his head on the pillow.   
  
“What?” Misha asks. He can't keep up.   
  
“When I move back here,” Jared says in a breath. “You'll keep in touch?”   
  
Oh god. They're going to take Jared away from him anyway. “As your boyfriend I suspect it's expected,” he tries to say with a laugh. It comes out flat and lifeless and Jared makes a choked noise.   
  
“Um,” he sucks in a slow breath. “If... if we... We can make it look like we broke up. I think that would be understandable, you know? I mean, I'm pretty sure me being gay is reason enough to not make me marry her.”   
  
Misha nods tiredly because he's been Jared's pretend-boyfriend for like two minutes, and Jared is already talking about pretending to break up. “Sure. Right. Let's just... let's just wait until we go back to school though. Just to be sure, okay?” Fuck this. If this is all he can have of Jared, he's going to fucking milk it like the little weasel he's known to be.   
  
“Meesh?” Jared drawls the name out in a sleepy slur.   
  
“Mmmhm?”   
  
“Merry Christmas.”   
  
They sleep  


 **[](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/)**

  
  
His parents come knocking as soon as all the cars have left their drive way. He expected they would, and had mentally prepared himself for all possible avenues.  
  
“I told your father how I caught you two in bed together over Thanksgiving break.” Sharon pauses, wincing a little. “Well, not how I caught you. Just that I caught you... in bed together.”  
  
Except that. That, he did not see coming.  
  
“What I think your mother is trying to say,” Gerry says tightly, looking up at the ceiling. “Is that she's... we are sorry for not seeing the... signs, earlier.” His father is obviously uncomfortable, but he hasn't disinherited Jared or kicked him out of the house. He'd also told Mr. Bledel the wedding was off, so Jared is hoping for the best there. “It was all there, I suppose. We just... chose not to see it.”  
  
“Signs?” Jared hedges, frowning. “There weren't really any signs. Look, I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I wanted too, but....” He shrugs. He did want to, he just... hadn't. “There was nothing to see.”  
  
He's pretty sure there wasn't.  
  
“JT,” his father says, raising his hands in the same calming non-aggressive manner he uses for ornery bulls. Jared doesn't appreciate it. “You didn't even bother to bring the cot down from the attic. We know you two have been sharing a bed.”  
  
“We really should get a proper air mattress,” Sharon adds in, so off-handedly it makes Jared smile. “And you know baby, I do the laundry. All the laundry,” she adds, giving Misha a look.  
  
“Oh God,” Misha groans, turning to bury his face in Jared's arm. It's a bold move, but Jared wraps his arm around Misha's shoulder and pulls him close. It might be an act but it feels good to have Misha there, all tucked into him.  
  
“The point is,” Gerry cuts in, cheeks ruddy, probably at Jared's little display. “Is we're sorry for putting you through this when we should have known. You and Misha here are obviously in...” Gerry swallows, “a relationship together and we just want you to know that we're... well. We love you.”  
  
“We're fine,” Sharon says, slapping Gerry on the stomach with the back of her hand. “Just surprised, and really that's our fault. We love you baby, it's just a lot to process. But you're still our boy. And you were right at dinner; we really do like Misha.” Turning to Jared's father, Sharon gives him a hard look. “Isn't that right.”  
  
“Yes, we like Misha,” Gerry sighs. “We'd like him more if he wasn't a filthy hippie. But it's easy to see how much you like him Jared, and that's all that matters.”  
  
Misha looks disgustingly insulted and Jared can't help but laugh. “Misha isn't a hippie!” He protest, but it's a total lie. Misha is a hippie in a neck tie some days, and a genius in yoga pants on other days. Any morning he wakes up, it could really go either way. Jared loves that about him.  
  
“Then why the hell won't he eat meat!?” Gerry asks, throwing up his hands like he's been burning to ask the question for a while. “We butcher it ourselves!”  
  
“That's kind of the problem,” Jared snorts. “Anyway, it doesn't matter. I do like Misha, and I'm glad your guys aren't going to abandon me or anything like that. I'm sorry it came out the way it did and I'm sorry I waited so long.”  
  
“It's alright son,” Gerry says gruffly. “It's all out now, and we'll get past it. I'm sure you aren't the first to bat for your own team in this town. It's got the neighbors in a ruffle, but it'll pass. Once you move back, they'll see you’re still the same Jared they watched grow up.”  
  
Jared swallows, any relief found in his parents approval gone at the mention of moving back. His fingers clench in Misha's ribs where he holds him, earning him an elbow to the stomach. “I'm sure they will,” Jared agrees with a forced smile. What a way to ruin a good conversation. “Anyway----”  
  
His brother takes that moment to knock on the door frame, flashing Jared a comforting smile in the process. “Hey, there's some dude here on the porch? Says he's looking for Baby Jay. That your stripper name, JT? I did wonder where you got all that new-found confidence.”  
  
There were only four people that called Jared by that specific little pet name, and three of them were accounted for. Shoving his melancholy away for now, Jared pushed past his parents, punched Jeff in the shoulder and raced down the stairs, Misha close behind.  
  
“Mike!”  
  
Seeing his smug smile through the screen door is a god-send. Jared yanks open the door and pulls Mike into a hug. “You asshole! What are you doing here? Tom and Jensen said you couldn't make it down.”  
  
Mike hugs him back, slapping him on the shoulder. “You didn't think I was going to miss your bachelor party, did you? I already have us hooked up on this sweet pirate-themed hooker in Dallas. She has a peg leg! Dude, but you should see what she does with it when she takes it off. The website had pictures, here look!”  
  
Mike is still fishing out his iphone when Jared interrupts him. “There's no wedding!” He cries out, nearly vibrating with excitement. “Misha saved me.”  
  
Mike visibly sags. “Oh thank God,” he says in a breath. “'Cause I really flew all the way down here on Christmas Eve to make sure your ass didn't get married.”  
  
Misha snorts. “So what's with the stripper?” He takes Mike's phone, eyes going wide enough to assure Jared that whatever is on there he doesn't want to see.  
  
“Eh, came early, figured I'd have time to get ‘em both done.” Mike is shameless, going so far as to reach up and ruffle Jared's hair. “So, tell Uncle Mike what's new.”  
  
Casting a look over his shoulder, Jared bites his lip. “Not here.”  
  
They head to the cabin and by the time Jared and Misha are finished explaining, Mike leans back into the couch. “I need a drink,” he says, huffing out his nose. Jared steals one of Jensen's beers out of the kitchenette fridge and tosses it to Mike. “So... you announced that Jared was gay and... they believed you?” He asks Misha, who nods guiltily.  
  
“I mean... I went with it,” Jared says with a shrug, picking at a loose thread in the couch.  
  
Mike snorts, and rolls his eyes. “Of course you did,” he says, and Jared bristles. “You really think this sham is going to work?” Neither Jared nor Misha have much to say to that. “Well, I guess we'll find out now, won't we?”  
  
The following morning Jared introduces his family to Mike. His parents are instantly smitten, going so far as to inquire about Mike's sexuality. Misha is decidedly unamused, pouting over breakfast as he stomachs down the bacon he'd spitefully accepted. Jared takes pity on him and steals the second strip when his parents aren't looking. Misha might be a filthy hippie, but he's Jared's filthy hippie.  
  
“So when are we getting Jen and Tommy boy?” Mike asks, shoveling bacon into his mouth with little regard.  
  
“Tomorrow,” Jared explains. “About that though... there is just no way we can all fit in Misha's car. I could borrow my mom's van---”  
  
“The one you knocked Alexis up in?” Mike asks, helpfully, spraying bacon bits across the table. He's a charmer, really. “Yeah, how about no.”  
  
“Oh well, Misha you should hang back with Mike and I'll go get the guys,” Jared offers, unwilling to leave Mike unattended on the ranch. His parents would never forgive him.  
  
Misha seems to come to the same conclusion and frowns. “Maybe you should stay back, Jared,” he offers. Come to think of it, leaving Mike and Misha unattended is definitely a worse idea, so Jared agrees. “Yeah, that's probably a better idea.”  
  
Misha leaves the next morning, bleary eyed but armed with coffee. Mike is already awake, the unfortunate morning person that he is, with his ass parked firmly on the Padalecki's kitchen counter.  
  
“So,” he says, wasting no time as Misha pulls out of the drive-way. “What the hell is going through your mind, Baby Jay.”  
  
“He did it!” Jared protest, petulantly. “I mean, it was his idea. I just went with it! Why are you mad at me!”  
  
“Because this is a spectacularly bad idea!” Mike exclaims, throwing up his arms. “This is the kind of shit that ruins friendships! Don't you realize that you can't just say you're together? People are going to expect to see it.” He frowns. “Though you and Misha are already grossly close.”  
  
“Mike,” Jared says slowly, because honestly? “The first day I met you and Misha, you were helping him take a cock ring off in a public restroom. After he shaved your crotch! You have no right to say that Misha and I are grossly close, thank you.”  
  
“Yeah, but I don't like Misha like that,” Mike argues, and Goddammit, he's not wrong. “I just don't want to see anyone get hurt. Jared...if you and Misha.... Look, what I'm trying to say is that...Jared, you're moving away. And it's going to kill Misha."   
  
 Jared doesnt' understand what MIke wants him to do.  He can't change the fact that he has to move back. What does his and Misha's pretend relationship have to do with anything.   
  
If anyone is getting hurt....it's him.  How can he be expected to give MIsha up when he knows what it's like to have him?  
  
  
  
  


  
 **[](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/)**

  
  
Tom looks confused and concerned, which isn't an uncommon expression on Tom's face. It's a good thing the boy is pretty. “Wait. You're just going to pretend to be gay for... for how long, so you don't have to marry this girl?” Misha had filled Jen and Tommy in on the trip back from Richardson.  
  
It had made for a long trip and the only thing that kept them from pestering him with questions was the promise that both he and Jared would answer them together. That and he'd drowned them out with Duran Durans Hungry Like A Wolf on loop for two solid hours.  
  
Whatever works, right?  
  
Jared clears his throat and shifts restlessly beside him. Misha barely realizes what's happening before it happens, but Misha has on occasion been known to be smart. Jared is going to come out. Right now. To Misha's friends.  
  
But that's not right, because somewhere along the lines they became Jared’s friends too. That's great, and also not the point. Jared is coming out of the closet.  
  
Well, he is if you ignore the time that Misha brutally shoved Jared out of the closet in front of his not-just-immediate family, and that of his not-quite fiance's. Ignoring that, Jared is coming out of the closet. Oh, and if you ignore the fact that Jared told Mike (before he told Misha, and yeah, he's still a little bitter on that.) It’s a monumental moment for gays everywhere, barring maybe the ones who decided they batted for the home team (or every team in Misha's case) upon birth.  
  
Shrugging nonchalantly, Jared tugs at the edge of the hole in his jeans, a quarter-sized rip on his thigh just high enough to occasionally display what kind of boxers Jared is wearing. Not that Misha has taken the time to examine it. Not that often anyway. “I'm not really going to need to pretend,” he says, and for all that he looks calm and unconcerned, Misha knows him well enough to see that he is nervous, if only a little. “Not that Misha knew that.”  
  
Again, the silence is unnerving, but this time it's Mike who breaks it up. “Good,” he says, leaning over Tom to slap Jared firmly on the knee. “We needed a solid gay to even it up.”  
  
Tom frowns and looks at Mike. “What?” Misha will admit that internally he's echoing the question, because what? What the hell is a solid gay?  
  
“Well we have moi, a bisexual and Misha, a pan-sexual. Then we have Tom the metrosexual, and Jensen the heterosexual. We need a solid gay in there somewhere, you know? Someone not vying for the V.” It makes sense, Misha figures. Mike is indiscriminate in his passion for both innies and outies, and Misha... Well, he calls it pan-sexuality, but in reality it just means that Misha will fuck anything should it catch his fancy and be of the homosapien variety. For all that they can be pretty gay at times, neither of them actually are. Jared can be their solid gay. He totally gets it.  
  
“The V,” Jensen echoes flatly from his seat, pointing at Mike with his can of beer.  
  
Misha grins. “He means vagina.”  
  
Sputtering, Jensen scowls. “I know what he means! Hell, I know it better than any of you.”  
  
Tom, always indignant, huffs. “Hey! I'm straight too!”  
  
Unrepentant, Jensen shrugs. “Yeah but I totally get more ass than you.”  
  
“We should have like, a gay-nitiation,” Mike cuts in with a glint in his eye that suggest he's been planning it for a while.  
  
Looking suitably horrified at the prospect, Jared replies with a hearty, “No!”  
  
Misha agrees. He has no desire to see Jared be pawed at by gay men in any club, party, or Rainbow Awareness meeting. Mike knows this, Misha knows that Mike knows this, which is why Mike is obviously choosing to ignore Misha's enraged glare.  
  
“Fine,” Mike says with an affronted look. “But I mean, I feel like we deserve it. I mean, we were promised a bachelor party....”  
  
Jared laughs out loud. “Sorry I ruined my bachelor party by being gay.”  
  
“With Misha,” Mike tacks on, oh so helpfully.  
  
Giving Mike a fond grin, Jared rolls his eyes. “You know what? I could use a night out. If you can find a gay in the area, you have my word that I will go and be gay-nitiated.”  
  
Was the boy stupid? Jared should really know better than to say things like that to Mike of all things. Mike would start a gay club to see that happen, Misha has no doubt. Hell, Jared didn't even dictate what considered 'the area'. He's basically given Mike limitless options.  
  
“Challenge accepted,” Mike grins, whipping out his iphone. He's making plans, Misha can tell.  
  
Jared pushes up off the couch and stretches. “I'm headed to bed. You want to go for a run in the morning, Mish’?”  
  
“Sure. I probably won't be much longer.” Misha does not want to be left alone with these three freaks after Jared dropped that kind of bomb, but he nods anyway. He's not in any way hanging back on the off chance of catching Jared jerking off again. It's not like he wants to torture himself with images of Jared's legs spread wide, his balls drawn up, that little ring twinkling in the bathroom li----  
  
  
“He's gone now Mish,” Mike says, sounding faraway, and way too amused for Misha's liking. “You can stop now.”  
  
“Shut up,” he growls, burying his head in his hands. When he looks up, a moment later, both Tom and Jensen are staring at him. “You can both shut up too.”  
  
“We didn't say anything,” they reply in tandem, snickering a moment later.  
  
It's Jensen that speaks next, pseudo-nonchalantly but grinning from ear-to-ear. “So... you and Jared.”  
  
“What? What? There's no me and Jared,” Misha replies in a guilty rush. “I mean, we're friends. We're all friends. Right Mike?” He adds, giving Mike a dirty look.  
  
Mike doesn't ignore it this time. “What's that look for?”  
  
“You and Jared have secrets!” He growls out, looking at Mike as if daring him to deny it. That isn't Mike's style however, and he and Misha have been friends for too long to start lying now.  
  
“Just because you didn't know them doesn't mean they're secrets,” Mike replies. “I did tell Jared to tell you he was gay, Misha. You can't be mad at me for not telling, as it was Jared's story to tell.”  
  
More like Jared's secret to tell. Which he didn't until forced.  
  
“You knew about Alexis too,” Misha reminds him. “When did you and Jared have all this time to gossip.” He doesn't know why, but all he can see at the moment is Mike kissing Jared at that stupid party.  
  
He might have pumped too much accusation into his voice, because Mike's calm seems to waver, a simple twitch of his left eye. “When Jared called me drunk from a frat party after sleeping with Sebastian! Quit being a jealous bitch Misha. I'm not interested in Jared!” He pauses. “Not that I wouldn't have minded hitting that but you've pretty much proverbially peed on his leg. He's yours dude.”  
  
Apparently it's a day for silence. Tom and Jensen are staring at Misha, he doesn't even need to look to know it. He can feel the burn of their eyes on the top of his skull and he doesn't appreciate it. “I'm not jealous,” he says, after just long enough a pause to be awkward for everyone around.  
  
“No,” Mike replies patiently, “you're not. You're upset because Jared is moving home at the end of the year, aren't you?” Goddamit but when did the conversation take this turn? Oh yeah--when he decided to yell at Mike like a jealous bitch. Misha is not in the mood to talk about his feelings, but considering the way everyone is looking at him, he's not getting out of it.  
  
“No,” he grunts, staring at the stretch of carpet between his feet. If he has to have this conversation he would really rather it was just him and Mike who seems to have a basic understanding of the situation. Not that he doesn't love and appreciate Jensen and Tom, because he really does. It's just that Jensen is too logical and Tom is too emotional and neither of them know how to wheedle Misha quite like Mike. He realizes that he shouldn't appreciate Mike's ability to manipulate him but he really, really does.  
  
“Misha,” Tom begins delicately. “It's pretty obvious you're crazy about Jared.”  
  
“Crazy being the optimal word here,” Jensen cuts in, giving Misha's hands a pointed look. Misha is holding Jared's cellphone, and when the hell did that happen? If he's going to stick his hands in Jared's pockets he'd like to at least remember it. He's pretty sure he does this more often then he cares to admit.  
  
“Like I said,” Tom takes the floor back, giving Jensen a glare. “It's obvious you like Jared, to everyone but Jared. I guess you can't blame him, he's new to all this...uh. Homo stuff.” Anal retentive, emotional and politically incorrect; Misha loves Tom.  
  
Mike makes a face that Misha barely catches, but he does and it only serves to make him scowl more deeply. “You know something,” he states, looking Mike dead in the eye.  
  
Again, Mike doesn't deny it. Instead, he blows Misha's mind. “I have firm reason to believe that Jared is interested in you.”  
  
Previously, Misha might have taken this bait with his usual aplomb and calm collective, however when it comes to Jared, Misha is more or less a hot mess. “What? What proof? Did he tell you something? You guys talked about me? Mike.”  
  
He realizes his mistake half a moment later when Jensen clears his throat and starts speaking with a high pitched Valley Girl accent. “Like oh my God, Michael! Shut up! No way! Does he like-like me or just like me?” Misha totally deserves this for momentary lapse of girlish magnitude. Apparently Misha was a sorority sister in some previous life.  
  
Tom responds in his normal, mocking voice. “That second like is totally important, dude.”  
  
“Fuck your mother,” Misha respond flatly. “But seriously Mike, what proof?”  
  
Mike blinks, and looks away shamefaced. “I can't out my source man, just that...that...”  
  
Misha really wants to know so naturally it's time to pull out the big guns. “If you tell me, I'll tell you where I put the pubes.” He's been withholding that little tidbit for months know but he feels it's well spent. It's Jared, after all.  
  
Hesitating for all of half a second, Mike blurts it all out. “Jared said your name when he was with Sebastian.” There's a moment of pause. “When he came.”  
  
Jensen, who must have just taken a drink of his beer, spews said drink across the little living room. “What?”  
  
“Sebastian and Jared hooked up at a frat party right before break,” Mike explains, and Misha can't even scold him for gossiping about Jared because hook-up gossip is and always has been, free game. “Sebastian mentioned it when I went to pick Jared up. He thought it was ironic.”  
  
It doesn't need explaining, at least to Misha. “But we never hooked up.”  
  
Shrugging, Mike leans back against the couch. “Sebastian claimed we were emotionally involved. Whatever, I don't want to talk about that. Jared said your name while coming. I think that's pretty solid proof. Now tell me where the pubes are.”  
  
It is pretty solid proof, Misha will concede. He'd like to deny it, but there just isn't any other logical explanation for saying some one's name while you come, unless you were thinking about them. It's not like with women, who can come and then balance their checkbooks thirty seconds later. If Jared is anything like Misha (and men everywhere), the thought process is kind of lacking when one is on the brink of orgasm. If Jared said Misha's name, he was thinking about Misha. And if he was thinking about Misha when he came... well, maybe there's hope. It's half-assed logic, but Misha will take what he can get.  
  
It doesn't change much. Jared is still moving at the end of the school year, abandoning Misha to be Jared-less forever more.  
  
“Misha!” Mike interrupts his thoughts with a not-so-gentle punch to the arm. “Where did you put my pubes?”  
  
“I put them in your hash-stash,” Misha replies brightly. He has no idea what he's going to do with this new-found knowledge. It doesn't really help the situation, but it does make him feel better and really as a born-and-raised hedonist, Misha is all about feeling good.  
  
Jared likes him. Like-likes. That second like is important.  
  
“We've been smoking your pubes!?” That was exactly the outcome Misha had expected, and it only serves to brighten his mood further.  
  
Mike looks proud; he always does when Misha pulls off an exceptional prank. “Apparently.” He turns back to his iphone and waves Misha off. “Now go crawl into bed with your best friend. You guys are practically dating but without the fucking. God.”

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter Ten and Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Chapter One For Blanket Disclaimer

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/)

  
Mike finds a gay club just outside of Dallas called Sue Ellen's, much to Jared's surprise. By the name, the place sounds like a mom-and-pop diner, but Mike has assured him that it's anything but. Apparently, Dallas has quite the gay scene. Misha isn't surprised at all, laughing at Jared's look of horror as Mike explains their game plan. Mike has decided that they will be commemorating Jared's sexuality like any classy, sophisticated fairy: in a bar with glitter, slutty outfits and cheap booze.   
  
They're ringing in a gay New Year.   
  
Crammed in the tiny living room of the cabin, they're sitting cross-legged in a circle on the floor, passing a fatty and pretending they don't know they're smoking Mike's short and curlies. Jared isn't exactly part of the two-puff-pass, but his eyes have taken on a glassy hue that suggest a decent contact buzz.   
  
Misha is a kite. Or an airplane, or gas prices. Or some other high-thing. Whatever, shut up. He's not so good at similes when stoned.   
  
“...and since you can't drink at the club, we figure we need to get you sloshed beforehand,” Jensen offers, clicking away on his laptop. Misha has already thoroughly mocked him but apparently winter-break means nothing to a mid-thesis med-student. He is using his disc-drive as a cup holder for his beer, so Misha doesn't rag on him too much. Jensen is nothing if not skilled at prioritizing.   
  
Jared looks to him for help but Misha is still busy laughing his ass off. “Oh no, Baby Jay. You got yourself into this,” he tells him through wheezing chuckles. “And you're coming out.”   
  
Misha loves puns. And Jared. Misha loves Jared. And Jared wants to bone him, he's pretty sure, so it's a good fucking day. As long as he doesn't think about the Jared-is-moving-a-million-miles-away thing.   
  
“Puns, Misha?” Not even Tom can ruin his good mood. He knows the situation isn't ideal, but Misha loves New Year’s, he loves gay bars, and he loves Jared. This is like a post-Christmas Christmas!   
  
Anyway, Jensen has his back. “Heh. You said coming.” Even if he does miss the fantastic pun, entirely.   
  
So the plan is set. They're getting Jared drunk, and taking him out. Misha has been designated Beer-Bitch on the day in question. Jared comes with, dictating Misha's way to the nearest liquor store, which is apparently a whole three and a half miles east (all the way across town.)   
  
They park on the side road, not because Misha can't parallel park to save his balls, but because they don't have any quarters for the parking meter. When Jared explains that there are no parking meters, Misha stares at him in confusion. If there are no parking meters, how the hell do you pay for parking?   
  
That's exactly how he finds himself outside a liquor store on New Year’s Eve, punched in the mouth and on his ass being glared at by a cow named Alexis. “You son of a bitch!” She growls at him, kicking him hard in the thigh. She'd come out of nowhere, or maybe Misha just hadn't been paying attention. “Who the hell do you think you are? You ruined everything! You ruined Jared! You... stole... my... wedding!” She hits him in the balls with her stupid, ugly, cheap knock off Prada in between each word before Jared manages to takes charge.   
  
Grabbing her arm, he tugs her back gently. “Lexi! Knock it off! Come on, calm own!” Instead of knocking it off and calming down, she hits Jared. From the ground, Misha yanks the purse right out of her hands, tossing it aside. The contents scatter, shiny tubes of lipstick, pennies and papers. If Misha picks her cell-phone up and throws it into a bush, well it's no one's business but his own. “What's your problem?”   
  
It's got to be the most asinine question ever voiced, but Misha appreciates Jared's effort. “My problem?” Alexis seethes, kicking Jared in the shin. “My problem is that... is that you're gay! You can't be gay, Jared! We had sex! You do not go gay after me, you do not! Especially not for weirdo, scummy hippies!”   
  
Taking Jared's proffered hand, Misha hauls himself up. “What the hell is wrong with you, you fat wench!?” He growls, dusting dirt off his ass. It wasn't the nicest thing to say to a pregnant lady, but she threw a mean punch and frankly, Misha just didn't like her.   
  
She aims another kick at Misha, but he grabs her foot. It's only Jared that keeps her from falling on her big ass. Misha is sort of appreciative, he guesses. He doesn't want to knock over pregnant people; even he has limits. Still... if she kicks him again, he's going to spit his gum in her hair.   
  
  
“Misha,” Jared says, but Misha can tell he's trying not to laugh. “She's pregnant, not fat.” She's both, in Misha's opinion. “And... hormonal, or something.”   
  
“Yeah,” Alexis sneers, like she's one some epic battle, the little twit. “Thank you Jared.”   
  
““Yeah, well what's your ass's excuse?” Misha snaps back, his inner sassy black-woman escaping in his ire. “Is it pregnant too? News flash honey; when they say you're eating for two, they don't mean you and a Lou Ferrigno.” Although, to be fair, any baby of Jared's is probably a giant, even in fetus form. “Like it would matter if you weren't grotesquely huge! Jared is never going to want you! So... score one for Misha for having a penis. Ha!” Penis-one, vagina-zero.   
  
Misha's mind is pretty petty place, he doesn't deny it.   
  
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Alexis stomps on Misha's foot, and the heel of her crappy K-Mart shoe grazes his big toe. “I hate you.”   
  
“The feeling is mutual, you jealous bitch!” Misha snarls. He's almost embarrassed to admit it, but his tone can't be mistaken for anything but possessive. Misha slips his arm around Jared's waist, pushing a hand up his shirt over Jared's hip bone. They might be pretending, but Misha doesn't have to act this particular feeling.   
  
“I am a laughing stock,” Alexis says through clenched teeth. “Left at the altar by some limp-wristed faggot---”   
  
Misha is just about ready to smack her when Jared cuts in. “Alexis Kimberly, you use that word one more time and I swear I'mma call my mama to come out here and smack you stupid! I didn't leave you at the altar, and I made it clear from the beginning that I didn't want to get married. I never wanted to marry you, ‘Lex! I'm sorry we got ourselves into this conversation, but if you disrespect me or my boyfriend again, you're going to be sorry.”   
  
“Face it, you're just mad because Jared left you for a guy. Is your va-jay-jay so fucked up he thought sticking it in an ass would be better? 'Cause baby, I've seen Jared's dick, and you'd have to be wrecked if he shoved that thing in you and didn't feel anything.” Boyfriend. Jared called Misha his boyfriend. Pretend boyfriend or not, it still makes Misha smile smugly, giving Alexis his own little sneer. Snatching up her purse, he shoves it at her. “Take your filthy, cheap knock-off and shove it up your ass.” Apparently Alexis turns Misha into a catty bitch.   
  
“Misha,” Jared says, less amused. He still puts his hand around Misha's shoulders though,and his smile is fond.   
  
“Fine, take your filthy, cheap knock off and go find a Krispy Kreme fatty,” he says, with a sweet smile on his face. To be perfectly honest, Misha loves a thick girl, but Alexis isn't a girl, she's a demon. “Happy New Year, you fetus infested harpy.”   
  
“Hey,” Jared huffs. “That's my fetus.”   
  
“Jared-fetus infested harpy,” Misha reiterates, and Jared laughs at him. “That's pretty much makes it a compliment.”   
  
Looking as if she's ready to gear up for another attack, Misha is glad when Jared cuts her off. “Look Alexis, I don't want to fight,” Jared tells her with a shrug. “I think we should be friends. We used to be friends, remember?”   
  
She grits her teeth and looks away, dejected and fat. “I don't want to have this baby alone,” she says and it's probably the most honest thing he's heard out of the twat’s mouth. “Babies should be born into marriages. That's how God would want it.”   
  
Misha can feel Jared tensing, his patience wearing thin at the mention of God. It's obviously a dig at Jared and him, or just homosexuality in general. “If that's the case Alexis, he probably doesn't want them made in the back of minivans in Piggly Wiggly parking lots either,” he tells her, kind but firm. “He probably also frowns on not wearing panties at church and stealing your mom's Valium, but that never stopped you before, did it? Don't be a hypocrite, ‘Lexi. Face facts; we're not getting married. I'm gay. I do gay things with my gay boyfriend. Gay, gay, gay, gay, gay.”   
  
“But the baby---” She begins, clutching her stomach, and now it's obvious to Misha that Jared is just as sick of her show. No one is RSVP'ing to her desperate pity party and they have better places to be.   
  
“I'll be happy to be that kid's dad, to raise it and love it and all that. Hell, if you decide you don't want it, Alexis, I will take it. No questions asked,” Jared says, and Misha is surprised by the serious tone in his voice. It's obvious that Jared totally means it. He's selflessly stepping in and giving her an out she doesn't deserve. “I'd do that, if you wanted to start your life with a clean slate, and find some guy who wants to marry you and have your kids. I'd take the baby, okay?”   
  
She blinks at him, tears turning her eyes even bluer. “You'd really do that?” She asks, looking up at him with her head cocked.   
  
“Sure would,” Jared replies, sounding tired. “It's probably the only chance I'll ever get to have a baby. All that being said, the idea of marrying you horrifies me. The idea that I ever put my cock inside you literally makes me vomit in my mouth a little.” Their mutual shiver of disgust is anything but feigned. “And the notion that I might ever be expected to do it again makes my balls want to crawl back up inside my body and die.” He reaches out and pats her shoulder awkwardly. “Just... just go home, okay Alexis? Game over, you know? And Happy New Year.”   
  
“Yeah,” she murmurs back, turning down the side walk. “Happy New Year.”   
  
They watch her vanish around the corner before pushing open the liquor store doors. “You're way too nice to her,” Misha says in a huff.   
  
It earns him an incredulous look. “And you're a mean, mean little man,” Jared laughs, slapping Misha on the stomach with the back of his hand, just like Sharon had done to Gerry. “Seriously, you were mean to her.”   
  
“She hit me in the nards, Jared! Once you take a ball-shot, you basically say fuck-all to any kind of decorum,” Misha explains, grabbing the booze. “She wants to fight cheap, I'll fight cheap. And hey, I didn't even mention her cankles. Or you know... that you knocked her up at a Piggly Wiggly. Seriously Jared, that's classy.”   
  
“I was a bagger, okay? She caught me on my lunch break,” Jared huffs, quickly redirecting the conversation. “Anyway, so you didn't mention her cankles. Clearly, you're a shining example of restraint,” he says dryly, giving Misha's arms, laden with bottles of various liquor, a pointed look. “I can't believe you called her fetus-infested. And fat!”   
  
“As far as insults go, at least it was true,” Misha argues mildly. Seriously, he'd held back for the sake of Jared's fetus. He had way more creative things to call her. “She is fetus-infested and fat.”   
  
“Right,” Jared snorts, watching the cashier listlessly ring up Misha's purchases. He gives Jared a lazy look, but says nothing. “Also, I never pegged you for a brand whore, you petty little bitch. Were you just flaunting every homosexual stereotype you could? I kind of expected you to take off your earrings and try to tear out her weave.”   
  
Indignant (not embarrassed) Misha's mouth falls open. “I am not a brand whore!” He denies, as they leave the store and head for the car. “It's about quality, not brands. I like quality!”   
  
“So the emphasis on her, and I'm quoting you here, 'filthy, cheap knock-off', had nothing to do with brands?” Jared asks him, lifting a brow.   
  
Glowering, Misha means to deny it, but is quickly distracted by a window display. “Jared,” he breaths, looking through the glass. “Assless chaps.”   
  
  
  
Returning to the cabin, Misha lets himself be happy, if only for the moment. Listening to Jared tell Alexis he was gay, gay, gay, gay, gay had driven something home for Misha.   
  
Jared is gay.   
  
And Jared may or may not like Misha in a sexual way. Mike pretty much spelled it out for him and Misha's already rationalized it in his head, so there's no point in beating around the bush. Jared thinks about Misha when he's coming on other people, and Misha has worked with less.   
  
There is one big glaring catch though; Jared is moving back to Texas.   
  
“You're brooding,” Mike says, kicked back at the cabin's kitchen counter. “Why are you brooding?”   
  
“I want to fuck Jared,” Misha tells him flatly eyeballing the bottles of liquor lining the counter for tomorrow. “And you know, all that other stuff you do to someone you like.” He'd elaborate, but as he has little experience with such things, he doesn't know where to begin.   
  
Mike snorts. “You mean date?”   
  
It's a testament to his frazzled state that his reply is a little less full of his usual suave and charm. “You mean like... bone on a regular basis and see him every day?” Misha asks, following Jared with his eyes. Jeff, who has a surprising three inches on his very tall little brother, currently has Jared in a headlock. Misha would have offered his help, but he's being offered a prime view of Jared's ass, so he can't be bothered.   
  
“Yeah,” Mike says with a laugh, the bastard. “Pretty much do what you’re doing now with Jared, but with more boning.” He's not wrong; there is a terrible lack of boning in his and Jared's fake relationship.   
  
“Then yes,” Misha turns, confirming this with a nod. “That is what I want.” It sounds like a fantastic plan that is never going to happen, and Misha reaches for a bottle, only to have his hand smacked by Mike. “But Jared is moving away.”   
  
“True,” Mike concedes, pushing Misha's choice bottle farther back behind him. “How old are you now, Mish?”   
  
Misha gives him a bored look. “Since we both know full well that you're perfectly aware of my age I'm going to assume this is a rhetorical question,” he says through a tight, somewhat condescending smile. Mike is playing games, he can tell. Misha wants no part of it.   
  
“Magpie,” he says, with his fond little smile. “You're twenty-fivw.”   
  
“Yeah,” Misha says slowly. He doesn't really need the reminder that he is grossly older then Jared. He also isn't about to mention that he thought he was twenty-four. He really needs to get his shit straight.“So?”   
  
“Didn't you once tell me that you'd consider graduating when college stopped being so interesting?” Mike asks, in lieu of answer. “Well... how interesting do you think college will be once Jared leaves?”   
  
It's not exactly a leap of logic to come to Mike's conclusion. “You think I should move with him?” He asks, surprisingly hurt. “You want me to leave?” He's not entirely sure he can cope with Mike sending him away. He wouldn't blame him of course; Misha is a terrible pain. It isn't so surprising that Mike would happily foist him on the first---   
  
“I love you like crazy, and I'd keep you forever if I could. But... I just want you to be happy,” Mike sighs. “Jared understands you just as good as I do, if not better, and he wants in your pants. I won't let you pass that up. Maybe you should consider it.”   
  
“I can't just pack up and move to Texas!” Misha argues, but that’s a lie. There is physically nothing holding him back. He could transfer schools, and he's pretty sure trust-fund money works in any state. “I'm weird and stuff. I need you.” It pains him to admit it, but as much as he loves Jared, Mike has kept him safe for years. He wouldn't know what to do without him.   
  
“You don't need me anymore. Jared handles it. He knows full well how weird you are,” Mike snorts. “And he likes you more for it. Misha... just tell Jared you like him. The worst he can do is turn you down and move away.”   
  
“Thanks Mike,” Misha says, horrified and sick to his stomach suddenly. “That's so fucking helpful.”   
  
“What I mean is that either way, Jared is moving away. But it's up to you whether he does it all alone or not.”   
  
“Jared's having a baby,” Misha reminds him, and then snatching the bottle back from behind Mike. There is not enough alcohol in the world to make this situation look pretty. Mike wrestles it out of his hands, and shoves it in a cupboard. “He doesn't need me around for that.”   
  
Mike shrugs, looping an arm over Misha's shoulder. Jared looks up from where he's still beign manhandled, and gives them both a grin. “I don't know. I think he might need you more.”   
  
  


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/)

  
One pair of assless chaps later, they head home. Jared is still a little miffed about Alexis. He wants to feel bad, but the girl is hard to feel bad for. She's too ready to place the blame of her mistakes on others, and Jared has never been that kind of guy. The blame is his to take too, but it was certainly a joint effort. He doesn't have it in him to be openly mean to her --he'd like for them to get along at least for the baby's sake-- but she makes it so freaking hard.   
  
“Why so serious?” Mike asks, leaning against the washing machine as Jared dumps his (and Misha's) darks in. Since his outing, he just can't in good conscience expect his mother to do his laundry. In truth, he hadn't understood the laundry-reference until Misha explained it to him later. He'd been appropriately mortified.   
  
“Thinking about the baby,” Jared sighs. He has no idea what the hell he was thinking when he made the suggestion, but it felt right. He'd never abandon his own kid, but he had no real desire to raise it with her. “I told Alexis that I'd take it. Like, by myself. I think she's going to consider it.”   
  
“Woah,” Mike says, reeling back a little. “Dude, that's kind of a big decision. I mean, it's a baby.”   
  
“Either way it's a baby,” Jared rolls his eyes. “But this way, at least it's just my baby? I won't be fighting her and her parents every step of the way. I mean, I guess if her parents still want to be a part of its life, I'd deal but...” Looking away, Jared turns the knob on the washer. “I guess I just figured... if it was mine, I wouldn't have to move. I mean... people have babies by themselves all the time. I could go to school part time--extremely part time, and work, which is no different than what I'd have to do here. I mean... I kind of figured I'd get an apartment next year... just, you know, with roommates. I was thinking maybe Misha, but now I can't ask that. I can't be the only kid in school with a baby, right? I don't know. I was just... uh. Thinking about it.” Great. He's rambling like an idiot. It’s like being thrown back to that first week all over again. Did he always sound like such an idiot before Misha?   
  
Probably.   
  
“Thinking about it a lot,” Mike replies, whistling through his teeth. “You could do it, you know? I mean... I don't know anything at all about babies, but Tom does. He has like four hundred siblings.”   
  
“I'm not going to ask Tom to help me with my baby,” Jared replies flatly. That's probably the fastest way to lose friends. “I don't expect any of you to have to deal with this. It's my problem.”   
  
Mike smacks him upside the head and looks at him like he's stupid. “Firstly, if you call your kid a problem again, I'll hit you in the nuts so hard you'll never even have the option of having another. That's just wrong. It's not a problem, it's a baby. Don't make me hit you. Secondly, are you stupid? Do you really think that we're just gonna bail on you because of a kid? I get that we're assholes, but you're our friend Baby Jay. I know for a fact that Misha would never leave you hanging, and dude, we're all your friends. Not promising that we have much to offer, but we do have support. And Tom. Like I said, Tom loves kids.”   
  
“You didn't say Tom loves kids,” Jared corrects him, feeling all mushy and such. “You just said he has a bunch of brothers and sisters.”   
  
“Yeah, well they're kids and he mostly likes them so I guess it's just assumed,” Mike shrugs. “It doesn't matter. If this is what you decide, then we got your back, Jared. And you should seriously think about telling Misha about this plan because... well. Because I think he'd want to know. I know these things, so you should do what I tell you. Remember when you didn't tell Misha you were gay? Yeah, you should always listen to Uncle Mike. Uncle Mike--see, that kind of has a nice ring to it.” Mike slaps him on the shoulder in a manly way, effectively dissolving any girly moment between them. “In the meantime, we all need to drink a lot.”   
  
Laughing, Jared can't help but smile. “You don't have to quit drinking just because I have a kid,” he reminds Mike.   
  
Mike gives him another baleful look. “You can't raise your kid around a bunch of drunks Jared, God.”   
  
  
It's New Year’s Eve, and Jared is staring into a plastic cup of something neon pink and probably bio-hazardous. While his parents haven't said a single word about their plans, he has no doubt they know exactly what he's doing. His mother had shoved a few twenties in his pocket, made him promise he'd take a cab and then proceeded to bluntly ask him if he and Misha were using condoms. Then she slipped him an extra ten, just in case he needed to stop by the drug store. And like the good mother she is, she also told him to share with his friends.   
  
So yeah... that had been fun.   
  
He sniffs his drink warily. Jeff, who had happily invited himself on this little jaunt, grins. “Bubblegum infused vodka,” he says evil. “I asked my girlfriend for the most girly drinks she knew.”   
  
Jensen, who made friends with Jeff upon setting eyes on him, cuts in. “Dude, she made a list. You get a lemon drop next. We figured we'd do all the innocent sounding ones first and then the pervy ones like a Screaming Orgasm and a Blow Job.”   
  
Mike enters the little cabin kitchen, more drink in hand. “I found one called Cow Boy Butt Sex, but when I saw Misha's chaps I figured you were already having that.” It's said purely for show, but Mike gives Jared a perverted little grin anyway.   
  
Jeff makes a gross brother-sex face and Jared takes a drink of the pink stuff just to hide his blush behind the cup. The taste is vile, flooding his mouth and burning his throat. “Oh God,” Jared groans. “If pink had a taste, this would be it.”   
  
“Funny,” Jensen says, making at thoughtful face. He sips his own horrible pink drink and grimaces comically. “I said the same thing about vagina.”   
  
Jared makes a gross vagina-sex face and every one laughs. It's a good start to the night.   
  
They manage to keep him from getting too drunk before leaving to the club. Jeff's girlfriend, whose name eludes Jared's mildly drunk mind, drops them off. Jared would probably thank her, but he's distracted by Misha's assless chaps. Everyone else, himself included, is dressed in jeans and t-shirts. If the jeans and t-shirts are a little tighter than usual, well no one needs to know that, do they?   
  
There's a line, but Mike quickly circumvents any wait time by dragging Jared to the front. He whispers something into the bouncer’s ear, earning a wide, toothy grin. “This is him!” He yells at them, over the sound of thumping bass escaping the door. “We're celebrating his coming out! Baby Jay, the Baby Gay!”   
  
The bouncer is instantly interested, leering at Jared up and down. “Um... hi.”   
  
“Don't be a tease Baby Jay,” Mike says, slapping Jared and giving him a pointed look. “Show the man a body part.”   
  
Jared reels like an offended maiden. “What?!” He hadn't been informed of this portion of the evening, and frankly he's not sure how he feels about it. “I don't know...”   
  
“He's not asking you to show him your dick,” Jensen says in huff.   
  
Misha pushes himself forward, standing at Jared's side. He flashes the bouncer his best grin. “Though his dick is pierced,” he explains. The bouncer’s eyes fall to Jared's crotch, and he has to fight the urge to cover it with his hands. “Twice.”   
  
“Oh come on,” Tom huffs. “Just flash him some ab.” He doesn't give Jared an option as he yanks his shirt up. Jared yanks it back down and wonders again how Mike had talked him out of wearing boxers. “Oh but hey, if you don't like this one, there's an even bigger version right here.”   
  
Jared doesn't get what Tom is talking about until Jeff is standing at his side, using Jared's shoulder for an arm rest and looking down at the bouncer. “He means bigger in every way, of course,” Jeff says cockily, going so far as to grab his own crotch. Dear God, he thinks they might have planned this.   
  
The poor bouncer. He's not exactly attractive; overweight, short, and a little bald. In the face of Mike, Misha, Tom, Jeff, Jensen and Jared... he looks a little flustered. Jared will admit that collectively, they make for a whole lot of pretty.   
  
“You all can go in,” the bouncers says with a starry-eyed look, and doesn't card a single one of them.   
  
“You're a doll,” Mike says sweetly, with his big cheesy grin. Jeff smacks the bouncer on the ass as they enter, and Jared can't help but love his brother a little more.   
  
It's crowded and loud and both dark and light all at once. Jared's never been to anything more rowdy then a frat party (he blushes when he thinks about how that ended.) “Hey, the bouncer didn't tag you,” Tom notes, looking at Jared's arm.   
  
“I think I've drank enough,” Jared hedges, catching on quickly where Tom is going with this. Jeff slings an arm over Jared shoulder and grins down at him.   
  
“On a scale of one to stupid, how drunk are you?” Jeff asks, eyes narrowing. “It's going to take more than a few girly drinks to bring you down, Baby Jay.”   
  
“You do not get to call me that!” Jared protest, elbowing his brother in the stomach. The previous fraternal love he was feeling is gone; such is the way of brotherhood, really. “I hate you. Who invited you?”   
  
“No one needs to invite me,” Jeff scoffs. “I'm your big brother, it's my duty to support you in these things.”   
  
Jared's look is anything but amused. “Seriously?” He asks, looking up at Jeff. “Is that how you solve all your life problems? 'My name's Jeff, and I'm bigger, so I win',” he mocks, making a face. He can't help but ruin it with a smile. This is all very reminiscent to him. He's missed his brother. “You're an ass.”   
  
“The Padalecki's do breed them big,” Mike agrees, bypassing Jeff and Jared's entire argument. “So drink up.” He shoves a shot in Jared's hand a shot, something brown and murky. Jared tosses it back without question, and sputters when Mike takes that moment to tell him what it is. “It's called a Sit On My Face. Or maybe it's Shit On My Face... I don't read so well when I'm drunk.” He's got another in his hand, something yellow and bubbling. “Come on, drink up.”   
  
Jared does, but it's begrudgingly. It's a sour-sweet concoction that taste a little like Screw Driver. “What is it?”He asks loudly, as the DJ sets a new song.   
  
Misha takes that moment to sniff his glass, eyes narrowing in thought. He nods his head, conclusion reached. “Golden Shower!” He tells Jared, who tries not to gag. Misha has a drink in his hand as well. Had they all come to the conclusion that Jared hadn't been carded? “This one's called a Cherry Popper.”   
  
They keep them coming, each one a little weirder than the next, till Jared is sure they're making them up. There's the Wyoming Leg-spreader that makes him want to puke, and a Harvey Wallbanger that tastes like fruit cake (that's never a compliment.) Tom’s brought a creamy drink called a Deep Throat, and Jensen's contribution had been something called a Painted Whore. Misha had made him drink a Cum Shot. That wouldn't seem so funny in the morning, he's sure.   
  
When he's nearly too drunk to walk, someone decides it's a great idea to make him dance, tugging him by both hands onto the floor. Jeff keeps their table, wisely agreeing with Jared's protests. Padalecki's are not dancing-people. It doesn't stop Mike or Misha from manipulating Jared's arms to do the robot. He laughs it off, and lets them, slinging an arm around Misha when he feels about to fall. It's illogical to lean on Misha, he's the smallest in there crowd, but he's the only one Jared wants to cling to.   
  
Apparently that's a lie. “He's a handsy drunk,” Mike comments, weaseling his way out from beneath Jared's other arm. Jared isn't one-hundred percent sure, but he thinks he might have been stroking the peach-fuzz covering Mike's head. It's a little fuzzy...er, not his head. Well that too...but really he meant his mind. They're both fuzzy, his mind and Mike's head. “Is this a family thing?”   
  
Jeff laughs. “We're touchers,” he explains, giving his brother a grin. To emphasize his point, he pets Mike's head.   
  
Midnight creeps in on them, but Jared's too busy being happy in the moment while he can

 

  


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000xpbt/)

  
“Three minutes till the count down,” someone says, near enough to Misha's face that he hears it. He's bent over the bar, cheek smashed against the glossy top. His lipstick, a tasteful shell-pink, is smeared across his cheek. He has no idea where it came from, just that it was in his pocket and wearing it seemed like a good idea. He just needs to lay down for a minute.   
  
The breeze on his ass is oddly refreshing.   
  
“What count down?” He slurs, lifting his head. The rest of him lifts too, all in the wrong order, making him look a bit like a wiggling, wet noodle. Or one of those wacky, inflatable, arm-flailing tube mans. Yeah.   
  
Misha is really drunk.   
  
“Who's counting?”   
  
Jared is really drunk too. He's looking around like he's not quite sure where he is. His cheeks are covered in glitter, and he's inexplicably wearing a top hat. Misha's also sure the shirt he's wearing is not the one he left home in. That it's made of neon pink fishnet and not dark-gray cotton is what clues Misha in. He doesn't say anything though because he can see Jared's nipples, and quite enjoys the sight.   
  
Jeff snorts, slapping Misha on the shoulder in a manly but also slightly painful manner. Misha wobbles where he's standing, falling into Jared, who doesn't manage to catch so much as hold him upright with his chest.   
  
“Midnight dude, this is where you kiss your woman,” Jeff explains, gesturing to Jared with his chin. “Might want to hop up on a bar stool or something though. I'm going to go call my girl.” He walks off perfectly unaffected by the massive quantities of liquor currently filtering through his system. Mike had made the mistake of going shot-for-shot with Jeff, and was later caught licking the bathroom mirror. The man can hold his liquor, to say the least.   
  
It's been a good night, really.   
  
“S'why is every one counting?” Jared asks, looking down at Misha through sweaty bangs. They're not actually counting yet, but Misha see's no reason to correct him. Jared is smiling like he doesn't know he's doing it, and Misha pokes him in the dimple. He's wanted to do that for quite some time, to be honest.   
  
“Kissin',” Misha tells him eloquently. Surely there's more to the story, but that's all he can remember Jeff saying. “Bar stool,” he adds, as he looks at the seat in question. It seemed important.   
  
“M'not kissing a bar stool,” Jared replies, sinking down onto said bar stool. The actual bar isn't as crowded as it had been, most of the bar patrons filtering outside to watch the fire-works. The one's that linger, old bar-flies and aging Queen's, pay them no mind. Misha has never watched fire-works on the New Years, as he's always spent it some where with below freezing temperatures. It's a nice novelty he'll be missing again this year because his legs won't work and Jared doesn't seem to be moving.   
  
“I like Texas,” Misha announces, feeling his skin go a little clammy. As soon as he says the words, he knows exactly where he's going with them. He's made his decision.   
  
Jared snorts at him, pulling him close and nuzzling the side of his head. A drunk Jared is a tactile Jared, Misha knew this. “You hate Texas,” Jared says with a laugh. “City boy,” he slurs, head buried in the crook of Misha's neck. With Jared sitting, there eye level.   
  
Kissing level.   
  
“I like Texas,” Misha denies, but it's a total lie. He can feel Jared smiling against his neck, warm and wet on his skin. “I like you,” he says instead, and Jared looks up.   
  
“I like you too,” Jared echos, and wraps his arms around Misha's waist. “Gotta secret,” he tells Misha, in a mock-whisper. “Not pretending.”   
  
“Not pretending,” Misha nods, feeling his heart race. He has no idea if he's admitting his own secret or echoing Jared's. He wonders if Jared would have even admitted that without the steady-stream of shots mixed up inside him. He wonders how drunk Jared really is. He wonders if he's cut out to be the boyfriend of some one who is a dad, let alone possibly aiding in the rearing of a child. He wonders a lot, but not enough to stop him from talking. “Jared.... If I moved to Texas, would that be okay?”   
  
“You hate Texas,” Jared echos, losing some of his slur. Blinking his hazel eyes, they settle more firmly on Misha. He looks as if he's forcing himself to be a bit more sober, and Misha is not sure how much he appreciates it.   
  
Misha nods. He does hate Texas. He misses the cold, clear air of home. He's not made for farming, and if he stays in Texas, he'll never eat meat again, he knows it. He'll miss the ocean and the board walks, and he'll have to find new people to buy pot from. He hates every thing about Texas, except that it's Jared's home. “But I like you.” He shakes his head, and wonders when he became such a melancholy drunk. “I'm twenty-four, Jared.”   
  
“Twenty-five actually,” Jared reminds him with a quiet laugh. “Your birthday was in August. I missed it, remember?” Goddammit, he really needs to get his shit straight.   
  
“You didn't know me then,” Misha reminds him. “Anyway, I'm twenty-five. I just...I'm getting older, you know? Maybe it's time to start thinking on things. I'll have a Master's degree in Sociology at the end of the year. I could graduate.”   
  
Jared look stunned. It's a flush-faced, glassy-eyed stunned, but stunned none the less. They're counting now, ten, nine, eight. “But you love college.” Seven, six, five.   
  
“I love you,” Misha blurts out, wide eyed and surprised at his own words. They're true of course, but his mouth isn't use to forming them often. Four, three, two. “I love you.”   
  
One.   
  
“Kissing,” Jared says in reply, but it sounds a lot like 'I love you, too' to Misha's ears, and suddenly they're chest to chest, and mouth to mouth. It's sloppy and wet and perfect, and endless. Misha has all but crawled into Jared's lap when at last they're interrupted. The interruption doesn't keep them from kissing though.   
  
This has been a long time coming, after all. They can't simply kiss and be done. They have months of tension to work through, and every one else can simply fuck off.   
  
“Have they been doing this since midnight,” Jensen asks, from somewhere on Misha's left.   
  
“Yeah,” Mike says, sounding a little breathless. “Bartender found me about ten minutes ago.”   
  
“Did he ask you to stop them?” Tom asks, from Jensen's side. “How are they even breathing, Christ.”   
  
“Why would he do that? He likes me. ” Mike sounds honestly confused. “He thought I'd want to watch. He's a nice guy.”   
  
Misha should be more weirded out that Mike is enjoying watching him dry hump Jared, but he and Mike have always been a bit too close. It's not enough to make Misha want to stop. Breathing isn't enough to make Misha want to stop. Jared has had a whole lot of experience with kissing, much of which Misha begrudgingly watched.   
  
He's totally gracious now, though, as he reaps the benefits.   
  
“Which one do you think will come first?”   
  
“Misha,” Tom says instantly, and Misha is pretty sure he hears the sound of money being laid out for bet. Bastards....he'll show them. He grinds down on Jared a little harder, and with much more enthusiasm. He's in it to win it, after all. Freeing his hand from Jared's hair, he raises five fingers.   
  
“Oh Misha has five on Jared,” Mike notes. “Any more takers?”   
  
“I'm going to have to say Jared,” Jensen agrees with Misha. “He's young,” he reasons.   
  
“Yeah but you know nothing about Padalecki stamina,” Jeff says. From the corner of Misha's eye, he can see Jared's brother covering his eyes. Still not enough to make him want to stop. “Are they always like this?”   
  
“Some one should probably catch Jeff up,” Jensen says, and Misha can feel his eyes on him. He can also feel Jared's hands on his naked ass, and damn, assless chaps were a great idea. “Do it in the cab. Should we hose them down or something? I can't sit in a car with them doing this all the way to Jared's house.”   
  
“Got it covered,” Mike says. “I booked us some rooms. Misha's picking up the tab.”   
  
Not even that makes Misha want to stop kissing Jared.   
  
They're given the back seat and the only thing that keeps Misha from removing Jared's clothing is Mike's head peeping over the seat. While he doesn't mind Mike watching him make out with Jared (hell, he's proud of the accomplishment), he has to draw a line somewhere. Plus, Mike totally admitted that he'd do Jared in a heartbeat if it was an option and Misha's possessive side feels that it would be in every one's best interest if Mike never see's his Jared naked.   
  
Not that Jared doesn't try. He makes a valiant attempt at ridding Misha of his plaid button up, half succeeding by simply ripping it open, little plastic buttons flying across the sweaty vinyl seating. While Misha is a born hedonist, he doesn't want an audience for the first time he blows Jared.   
  
It's a close call though, because he can feel Jared's cock grinding against his hip through denim and leather. It wouldn't take much to get him out of his jeans and grind down on him. Jared's egging him on, hands on his ass, pushing and pulling, and there's just no way Misha could doubt Jared likes cock.   
  
Jared wants it.   
  
Misha wants to give it to him. He gets a hand between them, popping the button and sliding down the zipper. It's louder then he expects, and does not go unnoticed.   
  
“Oh God, please turn the music up,” some one, Tom maybe, or Jeff, begs the cabby. “Please, please.”   
  
“Shut up, your just mad you bet on Misha,” Mike argues. “Who knew Jared was such a bottom.”   
  
Jared makes a protesting sound, but Misha kisses it away, and gets a hand in Jared's jeans.   
  
“Please!” Tom says again, louder and more desperate.   
  
'Are you brave enough to let me see your peacock? Come on boy, stop acting like a beeotch....'   
  
Suddenly, Katy Perry's 'Peacock' is blaring from the speakers, and Jared is vibrating with laughter beneath him. “Sorry,” the cabby says, chagrined. “Forgot I had that CD in there.”   
  
“Yeah,” Tom says, sounding unamused. “Just change it.”   
  
With his hand still in Jared's pants, Misha means to get back to work when the cab comes to a stop. “Aright kids, pack it up and tuck it in,” Mike says from over the seat. “We're here.”   
  
  
  


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/lifelesslyndsey/pic/0000wypf/)

  
  
  
He's not the kind of drinker who forgets the night before, so when Jared wakes up in bed with Misha completely naked, he's not confused at all. He's ecstatic, and sore, and he really has to pee, but confused he is not.   
  
“Gross,” Jeff says, from his door way. He comes bearing coffee, so Jared doesn't throw anything at him. “Mike wanted me to tell you that check out is at eleven. That's in an hour, by the way.”   
  
Misha is drooling on his shoulder, morning wood making a valiant attempt to drill a hole in Jared's thigh. His own cock is interested, but his head is pounding. “Misha,” he croaks, grimacing at the sound of his voice. “Hey Mish, wake up.”   
  
Misha blinks up from Jared's arm, sleep-mussed and adorable. “Fuck off,” he grumbles, snuffling down into Jared again.   
  
“He comes bearing coffee,” Jared informs him, nudging him in the cheek with his shoulder. “Come on Mish, we need to wake up. We have enough time to shower if we share,” he grins, laughing when at least some part of Misha shows interest in that.   
  
“Ugh, gross,” Jeff says again. “The coffee isn't free. Mike says Misha has Tylenol? I'm willing to barter.”   
  
“Check his coat,” Jared says, leaning over to fish his pants off the floor. He finds them, piled in with Misha's chaps, and pulls them on beneath the covers. “Come on Misha.”   
  
“Nooooo,” Misha whines, hooking an arm around Jared's waist to keep him in place. “You're not leaving his bed till you're covered in my come.” Misha doesn't bother to whisper it, growling it right against Jared's skin.   
  
Sadly, while Jared should already be covered in come, he isn't. Though they'd been enthusiastic during the cab trip to the hotel, their energy had flagged a bit as soon as they hit the bed. They'd fallen asleep naked, and half hard, which certainly explained why they woke in the same state.   
  
Jeff makes a horrified noise from where he's standing by the door, fishing through Misha's coat pockets. “My brother is still in the room,” Jared tells Misha, with a blush. His dick very much likes the idea, however.   
  
“Don't care,” Misha growls, biting Jared's shoulder.   
  
  
“Are you still drunk?” Jared asks Misha, trying to wriggle away when Misha gets a hand on his junk. “Misha! Jeff is in the room!”   
  
“Tell him to go away,” Misha says, rolling on top of Jared. “Wanna fuck you.”   
  
Jared intends to do just that, when he looks up to find his brother staring at him in wide eyed shock. “Don't stare!” Jared tells him, incredulous. “Go away!”   
  
“Jared,” Jeff says, his voice suddenly serious. He's holding a piece of paper in his hand, folded and some-what ripped. Jared could fucking care less. “When did you sleep with Alexis?”   
  
It's a stupid question, but with Misha's hand cupping his balls beneath the blankets, Jared just wants Jeff to go away. “July, why?”   
  
“'Cause this paper here says she conceived in June,” Jeff tells him, waving the paper. “It's from Valley Medical, has all her information right there in the corner. Where the hell did this come from?”   
  
Jared jack-knifes up in bed and freezes. Misha must have accidentally grabbed it when she'd hit him with her purse. That also explains where Misha got the pink lipstick. “Oh my God,” Jared breaths, looking down at Misha. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”   
  
Jeff's face is split into a grin. “Do you know what this means, JT?”   
  
“It's not mine!” Jared launches out of bed, grabbing his brother's face and shaking him by the head. “The baby's not mine!” As much as Jared would like to say he'd come to terms with being a dad, he's so relieved, he's dizzy with it. The urge to vomit is born purely out of excitement and hangover.   
  
He runs out the motel door, searching out Mike's room. What he finds there makes him pause, however. There is a girl in Mike's bed, blonde and petite, sheet's pulled up to cover all her....girl parts. “Jeff's girlfriend,” he addresses her, with a confused look. He should really learn her name. “Uh...sorry. I thought I had Mikes room.” He's pretty sure Mike slapped him on the ass last night and told him he was next door, to the left. Maybe he said right.   
  
“It's Erika,” she says, blushing.   
  
Jeff might have seen Misha naked, but Jared has no interest in seeing Jeff's girlfriend naked. He waves her off. “Uh...Hi. I was looking for Mike, sorry. I'll let you get dressed...sorry for barging in.”   
  
“Morning Jared,” Mike says, from the bathroom door, unabashedly naked and brushing his teeth. “What's up?”   
  
Jared looks around, taking note of Jeff's coat hanging on the chair, and his wallet on the desk. Mike did say next-door-to-the-left. This is Mike's room. “Oh God, Mike! My brother?”   
  
“And his girlfriend,” Mike says, with a foamy grin. The brother-banging bastard. Jared is going seriously have a talk with Jeff. As much as he appreciates Jeff's support, this is a bit much.   
  
“Erika,” Jeff's girlfriend repeats, covering her face in her hands. “Hey, can you blame me? Y'all are so pretty and country fed. Seriously, what does your mother feed you? Misha got to pick a Padalecki and your little sister isn't legal yet.”   
  
“Oh God,” Jared says, shaking the image out of his head. “Just...ugh. Ugh!”   
  
“As amusing as this is,” Mike says with a laugh that suggest how amusing he finds it. “What's up?”   
  
Jared realizes he had a reason for busting into Mike's room and just like that, he's grinning again. The brother-banging issue will have to wait, as will the don't-you-even-look-at-my-sister issue. “The baby's not mine.”   
  
  
Chaos ensues, but they do manage to get themselves packed into Jeff's girlfriend's van, and back to Jared's house. His shower with Misha is postponed, much to their mutual chagrin, but even Misha agrees that words had to be had with Alexis.   
  
They explain the situation to his parent's, showing them the paper. His mother livid, and it's all his father can do to keep her from marching over to the Bledel's and giving Alexis 'a piece of her mind and a smack to her face, cause baby doll, her face ain't pregnant.'   
  
To every ones surprise, Alexis called Jared.   
  
'We need to talk.'   
  
“Yeah,” Jared agrees, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of Misha, Mike, Tom, Jensen, Jeff, Jeff's girlfriend, and his parents, as they stare at him. “We do. The diner, half an hour?” She wavers for a moment, but he doesn't let her argue, reforming his question into a statement. “The diner, Alexis. Half an hour.”   
  
'Fine.'   
  
“We're coming,” his mother says, slapping her hand down on the counter. Jared almost doesn't want to tell her no, but he also doesn't want to make a big scene. Hell, after all Alexis called him. She could be confessing. He just wants this done and over with.   
  
“No,” he tells her with a shake of her head. “Just me and Misha.”   
  
She's already waiting for him in the parking lot when they pull up in Misha's car. “Well,” he asks, looking at the diner. “Are we going to go in?”   
  
“Do we have to?” She asks, shifting awkwardly on her swollen feet. Alexis must expect an outburst.   
  
“Yeah,” Jared says firmly. “We're not going to stand in a parking lot like this is some drug-deal. We're going to do this like adults.” Alexis pouts, but Jared ignores it in favor of lacing his fingers with Misha's.   
  
They order coffee, Alexis wedged in on her side of the booth, and Jared and Misha on the other. “Look Alexis, I know what this is about, and I really don't think there's much we need to talk about. It's pretty straight forward, don't you think?”   
  
She looks oddly relieved, mouth curving up into a smile. “I do agree, Jared. I have the paperwork ready to be signed. I printed them off the internet after we spoke. I got it notarized yesterday at the bank and everything. All you have to do is sign at the bottom.” Alexis shoves the small stack of paper at Jared eagerly, followed by a pen.   
  
He and Misha both look down at the words before them, eyes going wide in tandem. “These are custody papers,” Jared says, to shocked to muster up any real emotion.   
  
“I thought about what you said,” Alexis says, but Jared doesn't see how that could be true. Putting aside that the baby isn't even his, it hasn't been but a day since he made that offer. She would have had to print them almost instantly in order to make it to the bank on time. She hadn't wasted any time at all. “Like you said, this is probably the only chance you'll get to have a baby. She's yours.”   
  
She. Before this moment, Jared hadn't even known what the baby was. In his head, it had always been just that, an it. “I can't fucking believe you,” Jared says, looking at Alexis in horror. “Alexis, I know the baby isn't mine!”   
  
All the color drains from her face. “What?” She says, in a whispered croak. “Of course it is.”   
  
“You dropped this yesterday,” Misha throws the paper he stole from her on the table. No one really needs to know the details. “When you assaulted me? It says your conception date was in June.”   
  
“We didn't...do what we did until July,” Jared growls. Even now, he cannot put words to that unfortunate event without gagging a little. “Mind, we were dating in June, but I don't even care. Alexis, that baby isn't mine and you knew it!”   
  
The waiter is standing over them coffee pot in hand, and Jared vaguely notes it's the same angry one as before, the Milo Kid. “June, Alexis? June!” Milo the angry waiter growls, glaring down at Alexis“You told me it wasn't mine.”   
  
Jared drops his coffee in surprise, hot liquid spilling over the table's edge and directly into Misha's lap.   
  
“I didn't want it to be yours!” Alexis slams her hand down on the table. “You're seventeen, and poor. My parents would have made me marry you!”   
  
  
“You would have made Jared give up on his dreams to support you and a kid that wasn't his,” Misha says, surprising Jared with the amount of vehemence in his voice. “You wanted to marry him for money, and when that didn't work out you would have let him raise another man's child, and he would have. Jared never doubted that the kid was his, you know? So you're a greedy, lying whore. I'm pretty sure God frowns upon that.”   
  
“I would never marry you.” Milo laughs as he says it, and Jared has to give him credit; the kid has balls. “But I want my kid.”   
  
Jared hands him the pen.   
  
“What?” Alexis stares at him wide eyed. “You can't raise a baby!”   
  
“He can but I can't?” Milo says, pointing at Jared, and Jared totally agrees. “What the hell does he have that I don't!” The way he says it, Jared kind of wonders if maybe he's asked Alexis this before.   
  
It certainly explains why Milo didn't seem to like him much.   
  
Alexis snatches the pen out of Milo's hand. “You're...you're just a kid! You're not mature enough!” Alexis babbles, and even Jared kind of wants to smack her for that. After all, she thought he was mature enough to sleep with. While dating Jared; he can't help but feel a little bitter about that.   
  
“Seriously Alexis?” Jared says. “He's a year younger then us. And you're the most immature spoiled little brat I've ever met. Why are you fighting him on this?”   
  
“I don't want her,” Alexis says, looking down at her stomach. “But...but I want her to have a good life. I mean...with you she would have...”   
  
“You're under this impression that I have money,” Jared cuts her off. “I don't, Alexis. My parents have money, and they wouldn't have supported me. I would have been expected to raise her myself. And I was going to, but not in Texas! I wasn't going to move back. I would have had to get a job, and my own apartment, and probably do night classes for the next ten years of my life. Not every one has everything handed to them.”   
  
“I have a job,” Milo says, looking at her now. “And my own apartment, and I'm taking night classes. You don't want her, I do. You're the biggest bitch I've ever met Alexis. I swear to God if you don't give that fucking pen to me, I will take your ass to court and air every piece of dirty laundry on you I know.” Balls, the kid has balls. “You don't deserve her.”   
  
“That’s...that's black mail,” Alexis says feebly.   
  
“Do you care?” Jared asks, honestly curious. “He wants her, let him have her.”   
  
“Then go pull that stick out of your ass and grow up,” Misha adds, helpfully. “Stop trying to fuck people over for your own gain.”   
  
  


  
**EPILOGUE**

  
  
  
In the end, no one moves anywhere. They spend another week at Jared's parents. It's possibly one of the most frustrating, awkward weeks Jared has ever spent in his own hime.   
  
Turns out, Misha cannot perform in the Padalecki household. Like his issues with eating foof he's personally met, Misha is not comfortable defiling Jared in a room directly above Jared's parents room. It doesn't matter that Sharon and Gerry have believed them to be boning for weeks now. Jared finds it amusing for the first two days, but by day three he's about ready to kill some one. They leave the car with Mike, Jensen and Tom. Flying gives them a sixteen hour head start anyway.   
  
They use it well.   
  
  
Jared and Misha move out of the dorms the following year, sharing an apartment with Tom and Jensen. They offer Mike a room too, but he declines. As it turns out, Mike makes an awesome RA, and now that he's convinced Misha doesn't need him anymore...well, he kind of misses having some one to boss around and babysit.   
  
Jared agrees that one Misha is the equivalent to two-hundred freshman.   
  
Misha does not deny it.   
  
Nothing really changes. They still spend everyday together, doing what they do. Jared is still Jared. Misha is still Misha. As Jared isn't going anywhere, Misha does not feel the need to graduate and continues to milk his parents for tuition as long as they are agreeable. Sometimes he steals things, and sometimes he gets arrested.   
  
The only thing that's different is that Jared is now in charge of the bail money. That and they bone.   
  
A lot.   
  
  
_**The End.** _

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N So, I realize there is no porn in here. Well, other then all that jerkin' off and the dry humping in the van. Oh and Sebastian and Jared frotting. Still, there was just no comfortable way to write in some proper boning. But Misha and Jared deserve it! So, stay tuned for an out-take!
> 
> A big thanks to Malbryn for beta'ing. She put up with chapter changing, a billion more words than promised, and a series of flighty ideas. Bless her red-pen-of-doom that got me through this.


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